He Shouldn't Have Done That
by Lesera128
Summary: Brennan ends her partnership with Booth after she considers his confession to Hannah about the truth of her feelings for him the ultimate betrayal. AU. Complete.
1. Prologue: He Told Her

He Shouldn't Have Done That

By: Lesera128

Rated: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Brennan ends her partnership with Booth after she considers his confession to Hannah about the truth of her feelings for him the ultimate betrayal. AU.

A/N: FYI…. this story is in no way related to any of my other _Bones _stories and nor will it ever… it stands all by its little lonesome…. Please consider it canon through Season 6's "the Body in the Bag"… but for one, teeny tiny detail that will become apparent soon. Also, this story assumes that less than a month takes place between that episode and "The Doctor in the Photo." As is usually the case with my writing for those unfamiliar with it, the story will be driving off into solid AU territory from that point forward. Also, just as a note… I tend to have a very soft spot for a non-Brennan romantic interest Sully and a non-Booth romantic interest Payton Perotta as supporting characters in my writing… and, Hacker amuses less than annoys me (again in his non-Brennan romantic interest persona) so yeah… I think it's only fair for people to be warned. As ever, annoying flames will be fed to my pet dragon. A good piece of advice... if you don't like the story (be it premise, writing style, plot, characterization, or INSERT RANDOM GRIPE HERE), stop reading, and hit the back button. It's that simple. :)~

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><p>Prologue – He Told Her<p>

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><p>I can't take this… I can't believe he did that… I can't take this anymore… I can't <em>do <em>this anymore… and, I shouldn't have to….

I wanted to like Hannah Burley… I really, really did. She seems to be an independent, intelligent, high spirited young woman who has goals and works to actualize those goals. But… I… I can't do this anymore. I can't lie anymore. She's not someone, if I had any other connection to her than through *him*… I… wow… I can't even say his name anymore. Wow…. Anyway… as I was musing… if she were any other person, I would be lying if I said I would have naturally sought out an opportunity to cultivate any type of sustained interaction with her… because I wouldn't. Frankly… she's just… not interesting… or… useful enough for me to take the time that such an interaction would merit on my part. I… my time is just too important, so I never would have... but for him.

For him? I tried... I really, really did want to like her… and I really, really did want to try… for his sake… and I did… I did *try*.

He knows me… at least, I thought he did… and he knows how I define betrayal. How could… how could he have done this… knowing that? But, he did… she told me… and… and… I can't accept that.

He betrayed me.

For her.

He told her.

"_I found out about you and Seeley, your talk… about how you feel."_

"_Booth told you?"_

_A reluctant nod._

"_He shouldn't have done that."_

"_He had to… we're a couple."_

And there it was… he told her… He betrayed me. He told her… he told her something I told him in confidence… something… something he didn't have to tell her… a woman he's only been living with for a few months… he told her… and he betrayed me. I asked him… that one night… I asked him 'will you betray me?' And, he said, 'no'… and a fool… that's what I was, a fool. I was a fool to believe him.

I won't make that mistake again.

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><p>Dr. Temperance Brennan left the Washington Mall, and the bench to which she had drifted in shock, and finally stood up. Anger and purpose lengthening her stride, she tightly clutched her purple jacket to her sides and didn't concentrate on anything but her goal. Her one goal, her singular goal of finally turning her world back from where it had hung upside down for over a week, now seemed to be clear her. Finally… *finally*, she would take back the control she had lost… and, in so doing, make her mistakes go away.<p>

Brennan was on autopilot as she proceeded to the Hoover Building, went through security, secured her visitor's badge, rode the elevator up to the ever-familiar floor, and stepped out. Gritting her teeth, she put one foot in front of the other, forcing herself to move… to stop pretending, and do what she needed to do to end this… and make certain that her mistake, a mistake made in a moment of extreme weakness, could never ever be used against her again.

Approaching the office, Brennan saw he was in… and she knocked once… and he looked up, and obviously surprised, gestured to her.

"Heya, Bones. What's up?"

"I find that I need to speak with you about a matter of a professional nature. It will only require a few moments of your time."

"Okay-" he gestured to the door. She shut it. He leaned back in his chair, absentmindedly taking the football from where it sat and casually tossing it back and forth from one hand to the other.

"What's on your mind, Bones?"

"I have come here to formally request that you please find another FBI agent who can serve as the liaison to the Jeffersonian… unless you would prefer to continue to work with the Medico-Legal Lab yourself, in which case, it's with the clear understanding that I will not remain involved if such an occurrence transpires," Brennan said.

He stopped moving the football back and forth and stared at her slack-jawed.

Annoyed by his sudden and uncharacteristic silence, she said, "Can I please have your decision?"

Her sharp tone cutting through his shell shock, he sat up on the edge of his chair and said, "Whoa, wait a minute, Bones. What the hell? Where's this coming from?"

Brennan bit her lip. "I prefer not to discuss it since that would then negate the professional nature of this discussion which I have endeavored to maintain."

"You're serious," he said at last, comprehension dawning.

"Yes, very," Brennan said.

He looked crestfallen and glanced away. At last, his head shot back up and he said, "After six years… the least you owe me is a reason why."

"As I said, I prefer not to discuss that because it would introduce topics of a personal nature into this discussion, and I have no intention of doing that at the present time."

"Personal?" he said, ire rising in his voice. "Tell me why," he again demanded.

Her head again turned in his direction, and he realized how long it had been since he had seen her look at him like that. Cold… so cold. She nodded once and said tersely, "Very well… since you insist. You betrayed me. You promised me you never would, and you did. I can't trust you. And, since I can't trust you, I can't work with you… hence my request."

Bewildered, he said, "How did I betray you?"

"You told your girlfriend about something that was intimately private about me, because, I'm guessing the stereotypical member of the Catholic religion you are, you were unable to deal with the guilt you've felt since we had the conversation in your SUV on the night I foolishly allowed you to give me a ride home from Woodland," Brennan said bitterly.

"That's what this is about?"

"Yes."

"You honestly think that just because I told Hannah about that conversation… you think I betrayed you?"

"Yes… I do. And, it's clear to me now, as I said, I can't trust you… personally… or professionally."

"Bones—"

"Please don't," she interrupted. "Please don't call me that. It belies an affinity which is neither appropriate nor, in truth, real. I would prefer it if you would refer to me when speaking by my proper title and last name."

"You want me to call you 'Dr. Brennan'?" he asked.

She nodded. "That would be acceptable, yes… and preferable… and appropriate."

"You're serious," he repeated again.

"Yes, I am," she repeated. "I would not attempt to make light of this situation. Now, can I have your answer please?"

"Those… those are my only two choices? Either I find you a new FBI guy and you keep working at the lab with him… or I keep working with the lab… but you won't?" he asked.

"Yes," she nodded. "Those are your only two choices. Now, I really must insist that you give me your answer."

He looked up at her, something shining in his eyes that she didn't recognize for what it was, and said, "You realize… if you do this… if you make me do this… there's no going back… and everything… *everything* that we've been through… it will have been for nothing… no reason… no purpose. Do you understand that?"

"Yes," she said again, a bit more softly.

"And knowing that," he said, "Knowing *all* that… you still want to do this?"

"I have to… I… I made a mistake…."

"You told me what you felt you needed to tell me that night, Bones…."

Ignoring the use of the nickname she had asked him to stop calling her, Brennan said simply, "I'm not talking about that… that wasn't a mistake…."

"Then what?"

"Us," she repeated softly. "Us… it… it was a mistake… from the very beginning. I never should have trusted you… that was my mistake… and I'm going to do what I have to do to correct it… and make certain it never, *ever* happens again."

He was silent for a long time, but at last, he looked up at her and said, "You don't mean that."

"Yes," she nodded. "I really do."

Taking a quick in take of breath, he said, "It may take a bit of time… especially since we're in the middle of the case… but, yeah, fine. If that's what you want…."

"It is… and, until you can manage to make other arrangements, I will be limiting my presence in any circumstances that may potentially cause me to run in to you. I hope you understand… from this point on… the next time I see you, the next time it happens… you'll be a stranger to me. I won't acknowledge you, I won't talk to you… I won't have any reaction to you whatsoever. After this conversation, when I walk out this door… we're done. It will be as if you never existed in my life. Do you understand?" Brennan asked, her voice changing a bit as she asked her final question.

He looked up at her, anger burning in his eyes as he said, "That's not fair… that's not fair, and you know it. After what I was willing to do for you… put up with for you… that's not fair."

"Maybe not," she conceded. "But, that's how it's going to be... how it *has* to be."

"All because I told Hannah about how you said you feel about me?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes," Brennan nodded. "You once said what's between us is ours… and, if you're telling her that… new romantic relationship or not… it proves what you've said… everything you've ever said was a lie… and that you betrayed my confidence… and that you can't be trusted."

"You don't mean that," he whispered.

"Yes," Brennan repeated, "I do… I'm done being this person I don't even know anymore. You once said I didn't have a soul. It's true… and it's time I stopped forgetting that."

"Bones—"

"Please don't," she stopped and turned to go. Her hand on the office door handle, Brennan didn't leave, giving him a fleeting shred of hope. However, his hopes were viciously dashed when she called over her shoulder without turning around, "I lied when I said it would remain a discussion about professional matters only. I find I must impose on you in a personal way one final time. Your girlfriend is under the false impression that we will be meeting at the Founding Fathers tonight for happy hour drinks. I would consider it one final act in memory of our former partnership if you would please contact her and let her know such an assumption is erroneous… I will never talk to that woman again… or you."

And with that, she opened the door and walked out.

* * *

><p>I left the Hoover, and after that, I went home. I couldn't go back to the lab… I couldn't be around Angela… Hodgins… Cam… everyone looking at me quizzically… asking questions. I was so tired… twenty minutes, and I felt like I had been beaten to a bloody pulp going twelve consecutive rounds in a boxing match without a break. But, I did what I needed to do… it was done… the first step is always the hardest. I… it's done… and… and I am so tired. Sleep… I'll just sleep a bit… and then… tomorrow… starting tomorrow, it gets easier from this point forward.<p>

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><p>-TBC-<p> 


	2. Ch 1: One Month After

He Shouldn't Have Done That

By: Lesera128

Rated: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Brennan ends her partnership with Booth after she considers his confession to Hannah about her the ultimate betrayal. AU.

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><p>Chapter 1 – One Month After<p>

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><p>Cutting someone out of your life… just pretending that they never existed… I've often been critiqued for that by my friends and family favoring such an approach to managing my social relationships. I've been given many reasons as to why such a behavior, overall, hurts me more than other people. First, it's just something that I can't do because it's just not done. Second, I possibly can't be that black and white. Third, I can't be that inflexible or infirm. Fourth, it makes it more difficult for me because no one is that perfect and eventually I'll end up all alone.<p>

But, they're wrong. I've found it's a practice that has served me well over the years. Most people… most people don't bother to go through the hassle of dealing with the large amount of what Angela has called my 'Brennan Bullshit Barrier of Protection' to catch a glimpse… just a *glimpse* of the real me. It scares off the undesirables… and for those who make it through the first barrier… well, it's an excellent filtration system, I won't lie. It saves me time, and effort, and energy because only the people who I would even consider *worth* knowing make it through. I've been often told that I miss out on a lot of experiences that way… cutting myself off, making it so difficult for someone to get close enough to me, but… are those experiences that I even really want to have if the people involved aren't worth the time to begin with in the first place?

I initially thought… he was cute. I can't deny that, he *was* cute, and I was physically attracted to him… and there was something about him that caught my attention. I'm a sucker like that… for potential… when it shows up in a person, especially a person... who is male... and as good looking as he is, but, the potential was what caught my attention first with him. Elitist that I am, and proudly so, I know there aren't a lot of people in the world who have potential like that. So, when I see it, I'm tempted. I let people with potential get just a little closer than I normally would, a little faster, a little more easily… and with him… I did… because he was cute… and he had potential… and I really, really wanted to have sex with him. It was a weak moment from a number of different perspectives. But, God... I wanted him... I wanted him so badly that night. I not only wanted to get to know him enough to determine a more accurate reading of his true potential, but, biological urges being what they are... I have to admit... I also wanted to take him home and fuck him senseless...

And I almost did, too… the tequila… it… that night… I almost did. We almost went back to my place and would have had sex… and… if we had… then what would have happened? He would have gotten so much closer, so much faster than anyone else has since my parents and Russ… and… would I have walked out on him that day after we solved the Gemma Arrington case when he made that comment about my father? Or, would I have shown him enough by that point that maybe *I* had caught his attention… that there was something about me that would have encouraged him to be tenacious enough to follow me even if I did leave. But we kissed... and I felt something I hadn't felt before... and I got scared. And, so we didn't... and I ran away, left him standing in the rain... ran away again, from his office that day... and his tenacity didn't rear it's ugly head in my life for another year.

That's one thing I've always admired about him… he knows when he wants something instantaneously. And, usually… apparently except when I'm involved… usually, he acts with haste and deliberate speed to go and get it… despite what Jared says. God- and I should note that my frequent use of that exclamation is one that I say that as a metaphorical lamentation and common colloquialism *only* - God, what if he had been more aggressive… gone after me like he does everything else in life? Would we even be in this position now? Yes, a month has gone by… he has his girlfriend, I have my lab back… and for two weeks, I've been working adequately with the 'FBI guy' that he did eventually find, as I requested... yes... he found his own replacement. His choice was a bit ironic, all things considered. There aren't a lot of exceptions to my 'cut them off and erase past embarrassing relationships' policies... but, Sully is one of them... since he kind of left... and I didn't go after him... and there was no hurt on either side... it just sort of faded away. So, working with Sully... and *only* working with him... it was doable. And, as I said, I haven't had to speak to him or see him since it happened. But, questions still linger for me...

A part of me… a part of me has two questions. First, if that night in the rain he saw something… *something* about me caught his attention… why wasn't it good enough to make him do what he had to do to go get it… get me? Obviously, the only answer I can come up with is that what he saw… it wasn't good enough, it wasn't special enough, despite his claims that he 'knew as soon as he saw me'. What he saw that night, apparently, it was interesting… a fun way to pass the time… unique… but not good enough, in the end. I wasn't worth the effort, apparently. I wasn't good enough then, I wasn't good enough now… apparently I have a very short peak-season window of being good enough that peaked in about fifteen minutes in front of the Hoover building one disastrous evening. Which, leads me to my second question… if I can consciously do what I need to do to get rid of him in my actual life… why am I having so much trouble cutting him out of my dreams?

They started the very night I effectively broke our partnership. And they haven't stopped since… if anything… they've been getting worse.

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><p>"Heya, Bones, what's shaking?" Booth smiled at me.<p>

We were back, as we usually were, on the bench. It was one of about a half-dozen scenarios that had frequented my dreams, a single one each night. Sometimes it was the night back in front of the Hoover… sometimes it was the day I went to his office to break the partnership… sometimes it was a random moment on the couch on my office… sometimes it was eating Thai at my place in the middle of the night… sometimes it was the diner with a piece of pie and a plate of French fries for lunch during the afternoon… usually it was the bench on the Mall late at night… and most rarely… only one time, I think… it was his apartment so late at night that it was almost morning.

But, this time, I was back on the bench. It was springtime because the cherry blossoms were blooming. And, this time, I noticed… he was back in that leather jacket.

"Why do you always where that one when we're here?" I finally couldn't help myself from asking.

"I dunno," Booth shrugged. "Your dream, Bones. I only do what you tell me to do here, you know, since you're pretty much your own omnipotent God of this little universe when we're here."

"Ha!" I said. "If that were true, then I'd be doing other things that I want to do to you aside from just dressing you up in a black leather jacket… Trust me, I've tried… and it never works like I want it to. So, no, I know I'm not God here."

Again, Booth laughed. "Whatever you say, Bones. Whatever you say."

I paused and nodded my head. I looked out at the water that was lapping softly against the edges of the pool. I then said quietly, "I miss you."

"I know," he said. "You always say that when we're here."

"Well, it's true. I miss you… and God, I hate saying that, admitting that… even here… but… I miss you, I do," I said.

He grinned… that smile that he smiles at me… used to smile at me… before Hannah. But, here… here Hannah didn't exist… and that smile was still mine. "Well, Bones, I'm very cute and cuddly… in a word…'adorable', so I'd consider it odd if you didn't miss me."

"The old you," I amended. "You-you," I gestured. "*You* I miss… the you that came back from Afghanistan? Him… *him* I don't miss."

"Hey now, be fair," he chided gently. "He's still in here somewhere… even if you can't see him right now."

Swallowing, I shook my head. "You know… I used to think that too… and for a few months, I tried. God, I tried to find you in him. But… that's why... the moment he told Hannah about our conversation that night in the SUV… I… I knew then… you were gone… and… and I don't know how you can ever be in there when he is… He never could have done what he did… betrayed me like that… told her… you never would have done that… but, he did… and that's how I know you're gone. If even a little bit of you was left in him… he wouldn't have done it, but he did… so I know you're gone… and he's all that's left… and… God, I can't even say your name in referencing him… you know that? I can't… I can't call him your name. It's so strange, and I'm so angry… and, what happened during those seven months? It's like he cut you right out of himself… and what's left… what's Hannah's now… I-I… he looks like you, he talks like you, but, he's not you… and never could be."

"I can see where you'd think that… but… don't you think that maybe… just maybe, you've got tunnel vision here… I mean, yeah, it's a lot to deal with, Bones, but you gotta admit… you're sorta only seeing things from one perspective here," Booth said gently.

At this, I started to tear up. And, then I shrugged. "Maybe… but… that's how I am… that's what people say, right? I'm arrogant… and selfish… and condescending… and yes, I am… and… I'm doing what I have to do to turn my world back right side up, but obviously I'm not doing it very well if I can't cut *all* of you out of my life."

"Don't they say that," Booth mused, "Amputees still feel the ghost of a limb, even after it's been cut off?"

Pursing my lips together, I nodded. "There has been some research to indicate that such a phenomena occurs, although there is no logical or rational or scientific reason to explain the occurrence."

"So… maybe me…" he gestured vaguely in the air, "Maybe I'm the ghost that you're still feeling after the amputation."

I stopped to consider his words for a moment and then turned my head slowly, "That may be an accurate assessment. I had not considered it."

"So… maybe, maybe you've been more successful than you think you have been about cutting me out of your life," Booth said.

"God, I hope so… I had to… you know that, right?" Brennan said.

"I know you think you needed to," Booth said. "And, once you've made up your mind about something like this… there's pretty much no going back. I *do* know that much."

"I… I'm doing what I have to do in the name of self-preservation… I can't… I can't be around him… I don't want to be around him… he's not you," I repeated.

"So you've said," Booth chuckled.

"I didn't wait on purpose, you know," I said suddenly. "I didn't do it… tell him what I told him that night as a part of some grand plan… but, God, I hate the fact… but, I *did* think I was important enough to him that he would want me no matter what had happened... what was happening... or when - that he would do what he needed to do to finally come and get me."

"A bit egotistical there, Bones," Booth said gently.

"Yes," I conceded. "But, I've always been that way, and I don't see that changing any time soon. I'm arrogant and egotistical, but I know what I'm worth, Booth. And, everything you've always told me about love… the kind of love that's worth having… I… I didn't think it could be lost… pushed away… destroyed so easily. How could he claim to love me like that... and... such a short time later... just say it was gone... in the past? It... *it* can't be if it existed as he said. And, so, since he betrayed me... told her... he wouldn't have hurt me like that, intentional or not, if he loved me. A love like that just doesn't go away that quickly. He spent six years saying he loved me, had always loved me, and in less than a year, with the snap of a finger, it was gone? That makes no sense. So, logically, I can only conclude that he was lying... and he never loved me like he thought he did, like he said he did. And, so he misrepresented things... and, if he did, now that it's done, that's for the best, I think. I... I'm not meant to do love... maybe... maybe it's as ephemeral as I've always said if he could just... do that… fall in love with her so soon after being in love with me for as long and in the way he said he was?"

"I love you," Booth said. "I do… but… you love different people in different ways at different times… and the timing… ya know, Bones… timing in love and relationships? It's almost as important as the emotional connection… you can be with the right person, but if it isn't the right time… it'll never work… and, maybe… maybe this just wasn't our time. You have to admit, we've spent the past six years always being on different paragraphs, different pages… never the same chapter, never the same place at the same time. We've been close, me a couple of pages ahead, you a paragraph or two behind. But, we've never been at the same place, at the same time in our entire relationship."

"A relationship that we're now referring to as a relationship?" I asked, amused.

He shrugged and then pointed at me again. "Like I've said many times before, I'm not the God here, Bones. That's all on you. All this... all of it, it's all on you, because it's *from* you."

"I know," I said, as I leaned into him and placed my head on his shoulder. I decided to return to the previous comment. "You know, sometimes, I… I think that our book ended, Booth… his… I don't know how he could do what he's done if our book is still open, and we're still in play. I think our book got tossed into a trash can, set on fire, and then someone forced me to watch it burn."

"Well," he conceded, leaning his head against mine. "That may be true… especially now that you've gone your separate ways."

"I did what I had to do," I murmured softly. "I… that case with the doctor… I… I realized I was splitting a part at the seams… in front of him… and he didn't even see it… yeah, he just happened to be coming into the Jeffersonian for some random reason and saw me get into the cab when he did that night, and I am here alive because of that accident, but... I spent days starting to come a part, and he missed it, or if he saw it and realized what was going on, he just didn't care… and… I had to do something. It was killing me as things were. I… I wouldn't have lasted much longer if things stayed as they had been."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

I nodded. "I know… and somehow… even if he isn't… that… it helps. It does, it helps… and I can move on… and finish doing what I need to do… because I just can't accept him… he's this mutated, corrupted version of you… I don't know who he is. And, to be quite frank, I'm not sure I really want to…."

"So, no regrets?" he asked.

"No," I said honestly. "He's... what's done is done. He has his life, the life he wants with the woman he wants who wanted him at the right time. But, I can't, I just can't punish myself by watching him mutate into this person I don't know. I tried, I really did, for months. But, I just *can't* do it any more. And, more importantly, I shouldn't have to... if he exists, the man that loves me, the man I'm meant to spent the rest of my life with... he'd do what he had to do to get me for himself. Even if that meant fighting me... he would be persistent, and know how good I am, how rare, and he would do what he had to do to make it happen. He wouldn't just give up on me. If he knew me, like we both thought he did... he should have known that my first instinct would be to run, to push him away. But, he didn't. And, so... that's how I know what I know. Despite everything that's happened in my life, I know the right man... the one I'm supposed to be with? He wouldn't give up on me even if he thought I'd given up on him. He wouldn't just cut his losses and walk away. And, I know the more time goes by… the more distance I put between then and now… the easier it will be to hate myself a little bit less each day than I do now for what I let him turn me into…."

"And what's that?" he questioned, with a bit of curiosity creeping into his voice.

"A weak person," I said softly. "A weak person, with no self-respect, none whatsoever if I let him keep treating me like that... and a woman who was falling a part… because of a man."

"You sound disgusted with that assessment," he observed.

"I am… more than you can ever know…."

* * *

><p>Angela watched with growing concern over her friend the first few weeks after something happened between Booth and Brennan that had effectively shattered the heart of their team. Cam had tried to talk to Booth, and Angela had tried to talk to Brennan, and both got no where.<p>

At first, Angela worried that her friend would revert back to reckless behaviors… consecutive days without sleep in limbo… insane hours in the lab with no food… isolating herself from her friends and family. But, no, Brennan didn't do that… she kept her regular hours – mostly… ate normal meals, appeared to sleep normal hours, still occasionally went out for drinks and meals with her friends. And, it took Angela a while to figure out that aside from no longer working with Booth… only one thing about Brennan had changed. Empath that she was… Angela felt it before she consciously realized it. Somehow, at some point in time, her friend had shut down emotionally… and all that remained... all that was left was... cold. And, in some ways, that scared Angela more than she ever thought anything ever could.

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><p>-TBC-<p> 


	3. Ch 2: Two Months After

He Shouldn't Have Done That

By: Lesera128

Rated: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Brennan ends her partnership with Booth after she considers his confession to Hannah about her the ultimate betrayal. AU.

* * *

><p>Chapter 2 – Two Months After<p>

* * *

><p>This year… this year was a very different Christmas than the one I had last year. Last year… last year, I wasn't by myself. My apartment… for the first time since I've ever lived there… my apartment felt like a home… I had a Christmas tree… and everything was decorated… and on Christmas Eve, my table was set with food and surrounded by friends and family. I… I thought, for a moment, that night, maybe I had been wrong… maybe I wasn't destined to be alone all my life. Maybe… maybe… just *maybe* that man I had been waiting for all my life… the one single person who was my other half… somehow, someway, against all the odds, defying every basic tenet and precept of logic and rationality that I've ever accepted as the foundation upon which my life is built - I thought maybe that I *had* been blessed by some benevolent deity and actually found him. And he wanted me, and I wanted him, and no, things weren't moving quiet as fast as they probably needed to... but I thought... I thought, we had time. We would make it work. He knew me well enough to know what I really meant when the words coming out of my mouth were supposed to mean something else. I thought he knew me, and wanted me, and we had time.<p>

Booth sat next to me during dinner, and he smiled at me that smile… and later that night… once everyone had finally gone home… later that night… he stayed. He didn't have any place else to go, and there wasn't any other place that either of us wanted him to be… And we fell asleep on the couch, watching the Christmas tree, and he was still holding me the next morning. It was the happiest Christmas morning I've had since I was a little girl.

This year, though… this year it was going to be a very different type of holiday. You could already tell the difference just by looking at my apartment... the differences between this year and last year. To begin with, there was no Christmas tree. And the decorations remained boxed away in my closest, untouched, unwanted. My dining room table remained unadorned, as no food graced it this year, no friends or family members would sit around it. And since there would be no tree, it didn't really matter that he wasn't there to hold me. The warmth had disappeared from my apartment… and, on this holiday, my apartment no longer masqueraded as a home.

I went to Angela and Hodgin's at her insistence. They did have a tree, and decorations, and happiness… their house was a home, a happy home oozing with excitement in anticipation of their child who was growing in Angela's belly. The thought made me morose, guilty even, for I admit that I envied her... envied them the fact that by this time next year, Angela would be attending to my metaphorical niece or nephew. Many toys would be scattered around the room, stacks of presents sitting in piles of brightly wrapped paper adorned with shiny bows waiting to be torn open for their child, since he or she would still be too little to open any presents by themselves. Next year, I thought… they would be a family… and I wondered if they would have time and room and the desire to extend a courtesy invitation to the morose friend they had once loved so much.

And, so, for next year, I know and I'll plan ahead since I anticipate being alone… and I decided, right then and there that next year, next year it would be time to re-institute *my* tradition of spending the holidays somewhere in the field, digging up bones and making new discoveries. At least then, you didn't have to worry about the pain of the Christmas lights blinking in your eyes or the droning of the same three or four dozen Christmas songs, as they grate on your patience because radio station after radio station continued to recycle their play lists. But, for this Christmas… this Christmas I was stuck here. I took what comfort I could in that as it was definitely better here than with my Dad and Russ and the rest of the family. If I were with them they would never respect me enough to let me at least enjoy the façade of normalcy. With them, I'd never be able to pretend that I was okay, and everything was actually all right.

But, for *this* Christmas… Hodgins' healthy stock of red wine was my friend. And, later that night, after an entire evening where neither one of them said anything about him, or what had happened, or how I had started to change… not one single question was asked, comment was made. But, even still, I could tell - they *were* thinking about it. And, that fact made me love them a little bit more, and hate myself a little bit more, so that the red wine was the only way I had to rectify the two disparate emotions that I needed to rectify, as they stemmed from the same source. I only made a token protest when Angela suggested I spend the night in a guest room before I grudgingly agreed. And, when I climbed the stairs, I took one of the open bottles of red wine with me. A couple of minutes later, I collapsed on a bed in front of a roaring fire place and spent the rest of my Christmas Eve alone, in that guest bedroom, crying myself to sleep with only a mostly emptied red wine to keep me company.

But, at least when I slept… thankfully, I finally got the only Christmas present I ever wanted that year.

* * *

><p>This time, when I had finally fallen off to sleep courtesy of my Merlot-induced drunken stupor, thankfully, as I had so desperately wanted, I dreamed, and he was waiting for me… dressed in the same outfit he wore last year... dark button down shirt, dark dress pants, shining smile. This time, we were back on my couch in my apartment, which was, once more in my dreams, no longer just an apartment, but an actual home. We sat in front of my Christmas tree, and he was holding me, a content smile on both our faces as his breathing pattern came to somehow match the beat of my heart.<p>

"Merry Christmas, Bones—"

"It hasn't been a very happy one, until now, Booth," I murmured, snuggling into his embrace.

"Holidays can be hard," he acknowledged.

"Life is hard," I complained.

"Yes, yes it is... but that's sorta the point, Bones," he chuckled.

They were quiet for a moment before she said, "I have to let *you* go, too, you know. I'll never make my peace with myself, heal, and move on if I don't."

"I know," he said. "And you will. When you're ready, you will."

"I feel incredibly stupid and selfish to keep coming here," I murmured.

"Why?"

"Because, I did what I had to do to salvage some respect for myself in the conscious world, and each night that I come here to you, I just wreck all that progress in the unconscious world," I said. Making a face, I then added, "How I hate psychology, particularly self-analysis."

"You're stewing about something," he pointed out. "What's the real reason you're annoyed?"

"I'm not annoyed, but I am... I have been thinking. I-I… do you know what I was thinking about today?" I said, shifting slightly in his arms, a small knot coming into my throat.

He looked down at me and said, "Tell me."

"I… I was thinking about the baby today," I said softly. "If we'd gone through with it… and the baby had actually been born… she would have been a little over a year old this Christmas, you know?"

"She?" he asked softly.

"I… I just… when I think of the baby, I think of it as a girl for some reason," I admitted.

"You're punishing yourself," he observed.

"Maybe a little," I said. "If… if… if my body… hadn't done something… if I hadn't—"

"Miscarriages happen all the time, Bones. Didn't you say that almost 1/5 of all pregnancies end in miscarriage before the woman even knows she was pregnant?" he said quietly.

"Yes," I admitted. "And my head knows that, obviously. Miscarriages that occur that early are the body's way of terminating an abnormal embryo so I know that *something* was obviously wrong with her from a genetic standpoint that didn't make the pregnancy a viable one. But, my heart… my heart is another matter, Booth. I… going ahead with the insemination… I… I wanted to do it… surprise you… tell you that we were having a baby… even on your terms… and, when I found out the insemination had worked, God, you were in such a dark place. I didn't know if I'd do more harm than good by telling you. You were so confused already, and I didn't know what to do... but, I thought I had time. That's been my greatest mistake. I always think I have more time with you than it actually turns out that I do... and, four weeks later… I woke up... cramping and bleeding... and, God, I lost it just a month in… and by that time, I figured what would be the point in telling you, since I had failed... and my body was weak and I failed you... failed the baby. I was, I know I was... I don't know what I did wrong... but I had made some type of mistake, and I lost her, I did.… and you were already having such a hard time…."

"And, so you ran away to the dig in Guatemala?" he pressed.

"Yes," I said. "And that part doesn't bother me quite as much as it once did… But, now, here at Christmas… I know… I *know* if I'd still been pregnant - I would have still been pregnant that night in front of the Hoover when you asked me… what you asked me - and, if we'd had the baby to tie us together… it… I wouldn't have been able to run, push you away. It wouldn't have even been an issue of you having to make me stay and confront things. The baby would have done that for us. And, you wouldn't have started to disappear, started to turn into *him*… and I wouldn't be alone tonight, on Christmas Eve, very drunk on several bottles of very expensive Merlot that I know Hodgins was so sweet to indulge me with… But here I am alone, crying myself to sleep, with no good reason to really wake up tomorrow and treat it like any other day. Not really."

"Those thoughts are too sad, too melancholy for you, Bones," he said softly, stroking my arm. "That's not you, and you know it."

"Maybe it is… Maybe this is who I really am… who I've always been, now that I've stopped pretending," I whispered. "An unfeeling, selfish, arrogant, elitist snob who's masochistic and morose and melancholy and can't do anything right, be the right person to everyone in her life, and so is just better off being alone."

"No, no it's not," he said, his chin resting on the top of my head. "That's not you, and you know it. You know who you are. You've just been so hurt, and so angry, you've just forgotten who you are at some point along the way. Now, now, you just have to remember her."

He was right. That's what started to scare me most, I think, that he was right. I needed to stop feeling sorry for myself, remember who I was, and begin getting about with my business of getting on with life.

* * *

><p>Brennan spent New Year's, a single week later, in a much different frame of mind.<p>

For some reason, (that reason actually being *her* – Brennan suspected, but never confirmed), Angela somehow managed to black mail and/or guilt trip almost the entire lab staff into coming to a party in the lab on New Year's Eve. Everyone came from Cam to the squinterns to Sweets (as Daisy Wicks' date). And, somehow, somehow, in-between Wendell sticking by her right side the entire night, and Vincent Nigel-Murray sticking by her left side the entire night, somehow… somehow, Brennan started to remember who she was.

A few dozen bottles of champagne later, Hodgins and Arastoo Vaziri were designing some type of impromptu laser show – once Cam had nixed the fireworks that Hodgins had suddenly conjured like some type of Houdini. And, when midnight rolled around, feeling pleasantly bubbly on the champagne and camaraderie and lack of melancholy that she had been feeling for the past two months, she didn't protest at midnight when Wendell reached over and kissed her. She blinked for a moment in surprise, and he grinned sheepishly at her. She grinned back… and was quickly grabbed by Hodgins, who kissed her on the cheek as did Clark Edison and Vincent Nigel-Murray.

A few feet away, Sweets was watching Brennan interact with several people as someone turned on the lab's speaker system, fast music began to pump through the air, and she began to dance with no one in particular.

"Don't even think about it, Sweets," a voice came.

Turning, Sweets looked over to Angela as she trudged forward. "What?"

"Leave her alone," Angela said.

"I wasn't—"

"Yes, you were," Angela said. "You've been dying for two months to figure out a way to get time alone with Bren so you could shrink her head over what happened between her and Booth."

"Aren't you curious?" Sweets asked. "Or, wait… did she already tell you?"

Shaking her head, Angela said, "Yes, of course, and no, she hasn't."

"And that isn't driving you insane?" Sweets questioned in disbelief.

Angela shrugged. "Not really. She'll tell me when she's ready." She stopped and then said, "How's the G-man doing?"

It was Sweet's turn to shrug. "I can't really say specifically… but… he seems… happy, I guess. Most days."

"What do you mean, 'most days'?" Angela questioned.

"He doesn't like the fact that every time something comes up in the staff meetings related to the Jeffersonian, he's not the one that everyone turns to anymore," Sweets mused. "The week after Agent Sullivan took over the position, Booth had to stop himself numerous times from answering DD Hacker's questions about the status of the lab's work on certain cases… potential availability for future workload, you know—stuff like that. I… I heard he and Agent Sullivan have a disagreement about something, related to the change in assignment, I'm sure, that first week… But, since that happened, Booth doesn't say much about the lab. He doesn't bring it up at all, actually. I just kinda of get this vague impression every now and then that he's wistful about something."

"Yeah, well… I feel bad for him… just a little bit… because he was great having around. But so is Sully, and, Bren…" Angela's voice trailed off.

"And Dr. Brennan?" Sweets asked.

"And," Angela sighed. "And… I'm watching her Sweets. Just like you're watching Booth... but that's really all I can do right now, at least until she comes to me or he comes to you."

"She kissed Wendall," Sweet said suddenly. "At midnight? She kissed him."

Her eye's narrowing, Angela chuckled. "No, she didn't."

"Yeah, they did," Sweets insisted. "I saw it. Saw them."

"*Bren* didn't kiss Wendell... Wendell kissed *Bren*... as a friend... at midnight on New Years' Eve... because I asked him to," Angela said. "Brennan... she needs to, well, she needed to be kissed... even if it was just by a friend... at midnight on New Years' Eve. She needed to have some feeling of hope - new year, new beginning." She looked at him with an evil grin as she said, "I would have done it myself, but I didn't want to confuse her, just in case..."

Laughing silently, Sweets shook his head and remained quiet.

Angela glanced at the main floor in front of the lab's door where Brennan was cheering on Cam and Hodgins as they did a silly rendition of the Macarena. She smiled and said, "You know what, Sweets? For the first time in a long time, I think, maybe she'll be doing that sooner rather than later."

"And then?" Sweets pressed.

"And, then… then we'll see," Angela said softly.

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	4. Ch 3: Three Months After

He Shouldn't Have Done That

By: Lesera128

Rated: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Brennan ends her partnership with Booth after she considers his confession to Hannah about her the ultimate betrayal. AU.

* * *

><p>Chapter 3 – Three Months After<p>

* * *

><p>When you cut someone out of your life, especially when it's done out of necessity… the stages of pain are very regular. There's a clear pattern to them, a rhyme and reason to how things occur. First, you go numb. You're still in shock as your mind and heart processes what happens. Even though you know what's happened, you really don't understand it. You go from one day to the next, just going through the motions, distracting yourself the trauma that you've just had inflicted on yourself and the loneliness that fights the trauma for your attention. You come to miss that person. And, it's hard… at first. You cry at odd times… usually music is involved, or some type of other sensory stimulation. You hear a song that never used to make you think of that person, but it does now. You see a TV show or watch a bit of a movie that you originally viewed with that person, and you recall the experience, and it makes you sad. You go into a place like a restaurant, a store, a park, etc.., and that place is one where you used to go to with that person. After you've cut them out of your life, you want to avoid the pang of regret every time you go past said location so you start avoiding those places and look for new ones to go to instead.<p>

Eventually, yes, you still think about that person every single day, as soon as you wake up, as soon as you begin to fall asleep. You glance at the passenger's seat in your car, and remember all the times he sat there when you drove… sat there and shared conversations and trips… and just *shared*. But, time passes, and then, you realize, yes, you are still thinking about him, but now... now, maybe, on most days, you can also do so without having an emotional response. The ache is gone, mostly. And, slowly… after a little more time, you no longer have to chastise yourself for thinking about them, because you know you shouldn't and so force yourself to concentrate on other things. But, slowly, you realize that you don't *want* to think about him because you are embarrassed. You start to wonder… 'how could I have been that stupid?' - 'What made me think he was ever special enough to begin with to be in a position where he could turn me into such a weak person?' - And, when you reached that point that you're embarrassed by the past. No, you're not completely free of it, but you have reached the embarrassment stage. That's the part when you know that you're almost there, and you're almost ready to let go.

I spent January no longer feeling numb. I was still hurting, but what I was feeling about him and the entire situation was no longer numbness. Yes, I was still thinking about him all the time… and having to chastise myself for it. But, one day, I started to make changes. They were subtle changes at first. I went into my cell phone and deleted his number, even though I can still remember it by heart (all three, actually - home, work, and cell). I went into my email, and deleted his email address from my contact list. I then deleted any personal email I could that I had ever sent to the 'saved folder' for random reasons. I deleted all the classic rock mp3s from my iPod, but I still do have them on my hard drive at home. I won't let him take away Foreigner for me for ever… just for right now.

When I go out to get a drink, I don't touch red wine anymore. Instead, I order white now. I won't order do shots of tequila or vodka. I refuse to even order any drink made with scotch. I chose new drinks, drinks I never drank when I knew him, vodka and cranberry juice being a particular favorite. I stop ordering Thai and Chinese food, not permanently, just for now. And, I begin to prefer Vietnamese and Japanese instead. I stopped going to Wong Foos or Mamas or the diner, but I refused to concede the Founding Fathers to him. But, when we go… when we go, Angela always goes there first, and makes certain that he isn't there before she texts me, and in a roundabout way, let's me know it's okay to come. And, when we do go, we don't sit at the usual corner of the bar or at the back high top that were so familiar. Instead, I would choose a booth or a couple of freestanding tables on the opposite side of the bar, and, the change… it was good, and it helped.

And, as time passed, one month turned into two, two months turned into three, and the dreams began to lessen. Instead of happening every night, they reduced themselves in quantity and intensity, gradually, over time, so that by the end of January… by the end of January, I actually went an entire week without having a dream about him.

But, as all things happen - the world is such a small place after all - one day I was standing with Caroline in the hallway outside of one of the federal courtrooms one day before the first of the month. We are waiting for court to come back into recess. Sully was by my side chatting about something, when, around a corner… just like it was an accident - it *had* to be an accident - he came purposely walking forward. And, for a split second, just a split second, our eyes locked. And, I know he saw me because I've saw him. There could be *no* denial of that fact. And, the look we shared was intense for just the merest fraction of a second. But, then I looked away casually, and in no way acknowledge him. In turn, he reacted. I could see the flash of some type of emotion in his eyes, but only for a split second, before he spun on his heels and turned around, quickly walking in the opposite direction from which he had come.

I really shouldn't have been surprised when I fell asleep that night and found myself where I was… but I was.

* * *

><p>"Heya, Bones," he greeted me with a grin.<p>

We were in his office this time. That was a first. Previously, when I had dreamed of us at the Hoover, yes, it was night, but always we were in front of that damn sign with the Carl Sandburg quote. This time, it was late at night, obviously after hours, and he was dressed as he often was after a long day on the job. His suit jacket hung on the back of his desk chair, his tie was loosened, the top two buttons on his shirt undone, his sleeves rolled up… and he did look tired, but happy. How many hours had I spent in this office, in this exact chair, staring at him looking life that outside my dreams? Looking at him, looking at me, like that? Too many to count… but, apparently not enough. Time, I had yet again run out of time.

"I saw him today," I confessed immediately.

"Yeah, well, I guessed something probably happened that brought you here tonight. You haven't been by in a few days, you know," he said, almost wistfully.

I opened my mouth to apologize, but then shut it. After all, he had told me I was God here, right? So, I don't have to apologize if I'm God.

"I hated seeing him today," I confessed again.

At this, he looks up at me. "Oh?"

I nodded. "I… I can't help but find… that while I am starting to feel embarrassed by how I reacted during our relationship…"

"Hmmm, a 'relationship' now, huh? That's quite the big thing to admit so casually, Bones," he observed.

I shrugged. "It was what it was, as you said before. I am merely following your example. It's time to stop hiding behind professional labels and repeated denials. It was a relationship, albeit a relationship without sex. It was a pseudo-relationship that occurred over the years for a number of reasons, but is over now. So, it should be referenced and referred to as it was for what it actually was."

"Okay."

I nodded again and continued on by saying, "In the aftermath of finally ending that relationship, I believed that I was close to letting go of my emotions surrounding that even. But, I-I… I was furious today when I saw him. I must admit that I had not anticipated feeling so much anger at such an occurrence taking place. Logically, I knew it would happen eventually if I continued to consult with the FBI on cases. However, I did not expect, when I saw him again, to feel such a burst of violent emotion. I spent a lot of time today thinking about it. And, I've realized that I'm angry because, when I saw him, I realized that I still want to blame him for my actions during the time our relationship took place. I *do* place the blame for my illogical and irrational behavior on him."

"Well, at least you're being honest. Not necessarily fair, but the honesty is a good thing," Booth remarked.

Nodding, I said, "I find that in seeing him again, I am not only reminded of those embarrassing actions on my part, but I am also doubting my relationships with people who knew me during that time. And, if I'm not completely sure that the people who were present to witness my embarrassing actions are *completely* loyal to *me*, so, I don't want them around. If there's any chance, any at all, they are taking his part, I want to distance myself from them. Forget, begin again, give myself a chance to start over knowing that the past won't come back to haunt me. But, I'm not doing that. I'm not really letting go, and I think I finally figured out today the reason why I'm not letting go. I'm still so angry, and I don't know how I can do that if I still feel all this anger inside."

"Setting aside that that's a ramble and a half," Booth said. "I don't see how that's any different than it was before for you."

"Oh?"

He nodded. "You've been angry at him since the very first moment. The anger's been present since the very first moment that Hannah opened her mouth and told you that he had betrayed your confidence… and he hadn't even bothered to let you know what he'd told her. No, you had to hear things from her about your relationship with him. And, who's to say that you would have even heard if Angela had pressed you to go and find Hannah yourself?"

These were thoughts that had been bouncing around my thought processes all day. Slowly I nodded my head in agreement, but said nothing. He took that as a cue to continue.

"So, yeah... he told a lot of people. Hannah? Well, she's the girlfriend. So, of course, he has to go and confess to her. That's what couples do, isn't that what she told you? He had to? Of course, that's only if you were a threat, but if he moved on, then how could you be a threat? But, okay, we'll set that aside. So, right... he told Hannah. Yup, he told her. But, then, that doesn't really explain Sweets. What about him?" he asked.

I bit my lip at that. He saw, but apparently ignored it when I remained quiet.

"Again, even Sweets got the 411 before you," he continued. "But, you? The one person he should have done the courtesy of at least broaching the topic with, maybe given a little warning to? For you? Nope, nada, Bones, nothing. And, since the moment you've come to that realization, well, I think that's what started you having a response driven by anger. All the other stuff that came after it, the hurt, rejection, despair? Those were just like throwing gasoline on a fire that was already burning pretty brightly."

Again I nodded, but said nothing.

"So, you've been angry. You've been as angry as you might have ever been in your life about something as you have been these past few months. Is that a fair assessment of how you see things?" he asked.

"I can't deny that it was a certain amount of indignation and anger that drove my actions after Hannah's conversation with me," I mused. "So, I would have to say, yes."

"Just a 'certain' amount?" he dead-panned.

I frowned. "Okay… a lot… especially when Daisy Wick told me what Sweets had told her that Sweets had been told by him. Even allowing for a certain percentage of distortion in the repeated re-tellings, Ms. Wick has an excellent memory. It is safe to assume that because of him, and his big mouth, and lack of discretion, that my personal feelings have now became fodder for the FBI and Jeffersonian gossip mills. My privacy was violated, so, you're right. I was pissed off when I found out not only had he told Hannah about our conversation, and Sweets... who told Daisy, and who knows who else. Then, the more I thought about it, about everything, the angrier I got. I got particular upset when I thought about what Daisy told me Sweet told her what he told Sweets about what *exactly* he told Hannah, because, by all accounts, he wasn't as exactly as forthcoming as he should have been."

"So you got pissed off… and you've stayed pissed off," Booth said, a statement, not a question.

I was quiet for a moment, and then said, "Yes."

"And, that anger hasn't really gone away. It's just been sort of pushed aside by the other stuff that's been at the forefront of things for you recently," Booth said.

Again, I reluctantly nodded.

"I… I wish… I wish I could have the opportunity to walk right up to him, call him on it, you know? I think I know what I would tell him, if I could. I want to yell and scream and hurt him with the truth just as much as he's hurt me. But, most of all, I wish I could have the chance to inform him that he was inaccurate and incorrect when he informed Hannah that I told him I 'loved him'. You know, I never said those words. I *never* did," I said.

Nodding his head, Booth said, "Sure, I do. You're too smart to not leave yourself some wiggle room there, Bones."

"Culpable deniability," I admitted. "I would *NEVER* have told him I loved him, using those exact words. I never did, and I wouldn't have... unless he said it first. But, that's not exactly what he said to Hannah. Daisy told me."

"And, on top of all of that... he never even said it to you himself, in that exact way, did he?" Booth asked simply.

"No, he never did," I agreed.

And, maybe that should have told me that my anger, the amount of anger I was still holding on to, perhaps, that amount of anger should have been a clue to me that I was not as far advanced as I was with making my peace with the past and letting it go as I thought I had been. But. it wasn't… and I didn't… and then things went from kinda bad to definitely worse.

* * *

><p>Brennan was standing on the lab platform with Daisy Wick and Hodgins going over the recently retrieved remains. No flesh remained so Cam was in her office working on other matters and leaving the bones to the bones people.<p>

"Where's a good place for me to take some scrapping of the bone for mass-spec samples, Dr. B.?" Hodgins asked.

Absentmindedly, Brennan pointed to the left hand. "Anywhere in the vicinity of the phalanges and metacarpals on that hand is fine."

Looking down, Daisy squinted as she said, "I wonder if the grooving on the ring finger was because she was married for a long time, and so, wore the ring over a prolonged period of time?"

Brennan's eyes moved to the hand, and then back to her intern. "It is a possibility."

"You know," Daisy began to chatter. "You really have to be careful about what types of rings that you decide to wear when you get married. I mean, Lance has this beautiful ring that was his grandmother's…."

"I am aware, Ms. Wick, as I recall the occasion on which you were forced to swallow it lest it be stolen by the guerrillas in Maluku," Brennan remarked, still looking down at the bones.

"Of course, if and when Lancelot and I get married, I don't think he wants me to wear that ring. He says it has too much bad karma attached to it, and I kind of agree… so when he told me what he and Agent Booth had seen at the jewelry store, we talked about what kind of ring I might want if Lancelot did decide to buy me a new one," Daisy rambled on.

Hodgins was the first to look up and see Brennan. She had stopped what she was doing, mid-action, but her face was very controlled as she said in an even tone, "Out of curiosity, Ms. Wick, what was Sweets doing in a jewelry store looking at engagement rings if he didn't purchase one for you given his opportunity to do so?"

Daisy looked up at her mentor and idol, and said happily, "Oh, just doing research, I think, Dr. Brennan. Lancelot wanted to get enough information to make an informed decision."

"Ahh—" Brennan said, looking down with a slight nod.

"Of course, it wasn't strictly a fact finding mission since Agent Booth bought this huge diamond for his girlfriend," Daisy gossiped. She looked at Hodgins and continued, "Lancelot said it was bordering on gaudy, just between us."

Hodgins, however, was not looking at Daisy. Instead, he was looking at Brennan. "Dr. B?"

Brennan, however, was looking at Daisy. "Booth bought a diamond?"

Hodgins immediately knew something was wrong… bad wrong. It was the first time in months he had heard Brennan refer to Booth by name. However, as was normally the case, Daisy was oblivious.

Nodding, she responded, "Yes. Like I said, quite huge… tacky almost. Not tasteful at all. Lancelot said Agent Booth was going to propose to his girlfriend soon… before Valentine's Day, so it wouldn't seem trite, but I honestly don't know how you can be worried about being trite by proposing on a romantic holiday like Valentine's Day when you're buying that tacky a ring to do the deed with anyway."

Brennan gave a sharp nod and then looked back at the Bones. "Thank you, Ms. Wick. You have been very… informative."

* * *

><p>About two and a half hours later, Angela walked into Brennan's office. As soon as he could as unobtrusively as possible make his way off the platform and to Angela's office, he had spilled his guts to Angela. Giving her friend a bit of time to gather her thoughts, and the space in which to do it, Angela at last waddled into Brennan's office and looked at her… with surprise evident on her face.<p>

"Sweetie?"

"Yes, Angela?" Brennan said, stopping as she buzzed around her office.

"Are you pacing?"

"No," came the immediate response.

"Then why do you keep running around in circles like a hamster on a wheel?" Angela asked.

Brennan jerked to a sudden stop, and then said, "I-I… I'm endeavoring to gather what belongings I need before my departure from the lab this evening."

Angela glanced at the clock, saw it was just a little after six, and nodded as she said carefully, "You're leaving for the day?"

"Shortly, yes," Brennan confirmed. "Why?"

"I, umm, I thought you might be working late tonight," Angela said.

"Why?" Brennan said. "Did Hodgins inform you of the news that Ms. Wick shared about Sweets' recent visit to a jewelry store?"

"Yes," Angela said, again surprised that Brennan was being as forthright about the topic as she seemed to be. Denials, tears, shouts of anger… all of those things were things for which Angela had been prepared. But this… this hyper rational and open Brennan acting at hyper speed? It was throwing her for a loop.

"Ahh," Brennan responded. "Then you are here because you think I might be emotionally traumatized by the news of… the impending engagement?"

Both of them knew she wasn't talking about Sweets and Daisy.

Angela nodded. "Yeah, Bren, I am."

"Don't worry, Ange, I'm fine," Brennan said with a small smile. "As a matter a fact, you should be proud of me because I'm finally taking your advice."

"And which piece of advice was that again?" Angela asked warily.

Smiling Brennan said, "I'm leaving work early to go out for happy hour."

"With who?" Angela asked, unaware of anyone in the lab having plans for tonight.

At this, Brennan smiled as she said, "I'm not sure yet, Ange, but once I do, I'll let you know, okay?"

* * *

><p>A couple of minutes later, I hastily said my goodbyes to Angela, and made good on my word. It was happy hour, and I was leaving work early, and I planned on imbibing a *tremendous* amount of alcohol. And, so, that's exactly what I did.<p>

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	5. Ch 4: Four Months After

He Shouldn't Have Done That

By: Lesera128

Rated: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Brennan ends her partnership with Booth after she considers his confession to Hannah about her the ultimate betrayal. AU.

* * *

><p>Chapter 4 – Four Months After<p>

* * *

><p>Between the last week in January, and the third week in March, I spent one night a week getting drunk. One might observe this as a bit of a setback in my attempts to heal emotionally and move on from the toll that destructive fallout that severing our partnership had had on me. However, it could also be taken from another perspective… the perspective of an experiment.<p>

It started out because of that one night… that one night when I left the Jeffersonian. It all began as I contemplated my options and tried to think about where to go. I left my car at the lab, as I did not intend to be in any position to drive, if everything went as planned. I eventually took a cab to the Founding Fathers more out of habit than anything. But, once I got out, I realized that I didn't really want to go there tonight. I needed something untainted, with no memories, no touch of him or of the partnership. This wasn't about him tonight. This was about me, just me.

And so, instead, I settled on a smaller pub about three or four door down the street. It was an English Pub that was a 'hole in the wall' that Sully had found and frequented because it was one of the few bars in DC that apparently always televised the particular soccer matches that he loved to watch. And, it was also a place that the bartender knew me from the few times I had been there with Sully. It also happened to be a place mostly frequented by regulars, regulars who liked the fact that it was a dark, quiet, place where people came to watch the games, shoot their darts, drink their drinks, and talk among themselves, but not much else. So, in going there I knew there was a fairly good chance that on this night I would be left in peace.

I arrived at approximately 7pm. I gave the bartender, Charlie, a credit card to swipe to run a tab. And, then, I ordered a double pint of Guinness. About two hours later, I had moved on from my pints of Guinness to Black and Blues, half-Guinness, half-blueberry ale. By about 9pm, I had moved on from Black and Blues to Irish Carbombs. I wasn't in a drunken stupor yet… not at that point, but I was definitely drunk, legally and otherwise. And, I was feeling quite euphoric… that free feeling that you get when all your inhibitions have wonderfully disappeared for once in my life.

Now, this is not usually an easy state for me to achieve without the aid of mind altering drugs. I have an incredibly high tolerance for alcohol. And, that's why usually on the rare occasions I wanted to fuck myself up, shots are usually my preferred choice. Shots mean that I can get drunk enough to feel the happy obliviousness without wasting a lot of time getting there… and not overshoot that delicate point between being happily buzzed… and getting ready to be sick… or worse… pass out that sometimes comes with beer or wine or other drinks. But, for some reason, on that night I was in the mood for Guinness. And, once the Irish stout had set the mood for the evening, who was I to argue with the theme of the night?

So, as I said, by about 9pm, and a couple rounds into the Irish Carbombs… I was pleasantly drunk when my cell phone rang. When I looked down at it from where it sat in front of me on the bar, I saw a number. And, even though I had deleted that number from my cell phone the same day I deleted his, I remembered it. And, I was gleeful when I saw it. I really was. I didn't really stop to consider why that number was ringing my phone because I was so happy that the number was calling me on this night of all nights. So, whatever the reason behind it, now, after all these months… I didn't really care. What I did care about was the fact that Hannah Burley was ringing my cell phone, and I was only too pleased to finally be in the appropriate frame of mind to share some thoughts with her that I had been holding on to for quite a long time. A flame of anger swirled in my stomach, ready to leap out. I was giddy. I was ecstatic. I was delirious with anticipation as I reached down and picked up the phone, my decision made in that I *was* going to take the call.

Finally, *finally*, here was the outlet I needed. Here was a way to release the anger at him, without actually talking to him. It would finally give me peace, finally bring me closure. Only… either luckily, or unluckily, I suppose, depending on one's perspective, because of what she said first, I never got the chance... for either the angry tirade... or the closure.

* * *

><p>"Hello?"<p>

"Temperance?" came the timid response. And tears… she was crying. But, Brennan, too drunk to notice, probably wouldn't even have cared if she had recognized that nuance for what it was, or what it intimated.

"Yes?"

"It's… it's me."

"Who? Who is 'me'?" Brennan responded tersely.

"Hannah, Temperance. It's Hannah."

"Oh… yes… Hannah."

"I, uh—"

"Why are you calling my cell phone, Hannah, when I made it blatantly clear to your boyfriend that I never wanted to speak to either one of you ever again?" Brennan said. She was smiling. She *was* going to enjoy this.

"He's… he's not my boyfriend any more, Temperance."

"Oh," Brennan frowned, annoyed at Hannah's blatant reminder of the new change in the status of their personal relationship. "Right… I suppose the more appropriate societal label would be 'fiance'."

"No," came the quiet reply. "He's not that either."

"Then tell me what damn term you prefer so we can get on with things," Brennan retorted in exasperation.

"Uhhh, nothing, Temperance… he's not… he's not anything to me any more. We're… um… not together anymore... because, uh, he broke up with me," Hannah answered in the longest and most informative sentence she had completed since the conversation began.

Her eyebrow narrowing. "Why?"

"Because… I-I… I told him that I couldn't marry him."

"Couldn't... or wouldn't?"

A beat of silence followed.

"Does it matter?" came the reply finally.

"Yes," Brennan said. "It makes all the difference in the world."

"Fine," she replied. "Wouldn't."

Suddenly, Brennan was torn between frowning and letting out a yell of excitement. Instead she opted for more information. "When?"

"An hour or so ago… I-I… I've got to get my stuff out of his place… I left him at the Mall, but…."

"Why are you telling me all this, Hannah?"

"Because… I think… he's… he was in a very bad place, I think, when I left him, and I think he needs a friend tonight," she said quietly.

"I'm not his friend," Brennan retorted.

"Fine," Hannah amended. "Then… I think he needs *you* tonight… I just… I'm scared and worried about him, and I thought you should know. That's all."

"Fine," Brennan retorted. "You have successfully conveyed your information and accomplished your stated goal. Good-bye."

And with that, Brennan hung up the phone, put it in her pocket, and contemplated her next action.

Sipping the remnants of her Irish Carbomb, Brennan was uncertain what to do. On one hand, the spiteful, petty, selfish side was screaming with excitement and glee and happiness. Karma, well karma - it apparently did exist. It appeared, from Hannah's statements, that he was finally reaping the fruits of his foolish labors, and the result was pain. Pain, overwhelming heart-crushing pain, like Brennan had been in for months. Pain. And, the spiteful, petty, selfish side of her reveled in the fact.

_Good_, she thought. _Now, now he knows what it feels like. Someone did to him exactly what he did to me. Betrayed his trust and broke his heart_. _Good. No, great! Great._

Then, the other side... the other part of her that was usually in control, the rational, sane, empathetic part that still longed for him enough that she had chosen to go out and get spectacularly drunk at news of his impending engagement, that part feel concern and worry and pain - on his behalf.

_No one deserves to feel like this_, she thought. _You know that pain. You know it only too well. It's the pain that's been tearing you a part for months... and, knowing what that feels like, how could you gleefully wish that on *anybody*, even your worst enemy... let alone him?  
><em>

And, so, for several minutes she battled with herself. And, she struggled with her feelings, her very distinct and diametrically opposed emotional responses. And, after several minutes, finally a stalemate was declared. Then, a third voice popped up. The third voice was the one that was the most innocent, the most pure, the most objective. It was this voice, *this* voice who pointed out that she was curious. And, since she was curious, here was a golden opportunity to get information that she had been craving, data, if you will, without doing harm to anyone. All she had to do was look, after all.

And, in the end, it was curiosity that won. Brennan's decision made, she asked Charlie to cash her out. In her drunken stupor… Brennan was curious to know just *how* much he had changed in the past few months. How much… or how little. Were her anger-induced assumptions and emotional accusations accurate or inaccurate? If so, by how much? And, so… she would go… see if he would be where she guessed… and see what happened from there.

* * *

><p>If I knew him… if I ever really knew him, then I knew where I would find him, and I knew what he would be doing, and I wanted to see if I was right or not. That was important, for some reason. So, I got up… and, on feet that were a little shaky, with pupils greatly dilated, and absolutely no inhibitions holding a check on my anger or my curiosity - emotions in general, I slowly made my way out of the pub. I walked out the door, turned left, walked four doors down the sidewalk, and turned again, pulled open the door… and then, I saw him. He was just sitting there… at the edge of the bar… drinking scotch. I *know* it was scotch… with several shot glasses in front of him… and I saw that… just as I had guessed, there he was, just as I knew he would be. And, I smiled, knowing I was right. I'm not sure why that brought me pleasure if the overall goal was supposed to be letting him go. But, I knew I was right… and, then I turned to leave, having achieved my goal.<p>

* * *

><p>That night, I dreamed again. This time, however, the dream was not like those that had gone before it. *This* time there was less order, less coherence to the dream. It's all very hazy, all very blurred, and jumbled all together, and how the pieces fit together are unclear to me. It doesn't really make a lot of sense.<p>

But, that night I did have a dream… and I do remember flashes….

_-Hannah called me…-_

_-__Hmmmph, well ain't that fine-fuckin'-dandy._-__

__-She's worried about you.-  
><em>_

__-_So she sent you.-_

_-She didn't send me anywhere. I came because of my own choice.-_

_-You act like the distinction should mean something to me? Why should it?_-__

__-_To you? I guess it shouldn't. It's not like anything I ever thought or did was ever significant to you anyway._-__

__-_Months... you haven't said a fucking word to me in months, and that's all you have to say to me? After all the things you could say, you want to choose the one that is so full of bullshit it's not even funny?-_

_-I didn't really come here to talk to you.-_

_-Then, why did you come?-_

_-Curiosity.-_

__-_Curiosity_, hmmm? _Curiosity_? Well, that's as good a reason as any I guess. I'm kinda curious about things tonight myself. I've been trying to figure out the answer to a question since I've been here. Maybe you can help me, since you're curious too. _What is it with me? I mean, I keep trying to attract these women, and you all are- I mean, I just don't get it. I don't. What's wrong with me?-  
><em>

__-_Nothing. Maybe it's not you. Did you ever think that maybe… maybe it's how you do things. It's not what you're offering, but *how* you offer it that's the problem. On your terms… your time… never a compromise… no compromise… because you don't do compromises._-__

__-_That's not true. I compromised for you, didn't I? I didn't walk away when you tore my heart out and asked me to say 'thank you' when you stomped all over it._ I could have, I should have, but I didn't, because it was you, because of what you asked of me, because it was *you* who was asking.-__

__-_You sound as if I should be grateful for that._-__

__-_You should. Or, at least, flattered. It didn't happen before you... and it sure as hell won't happen after._-__

__-_That sounds like your problem, not mine._-_  
><em>

__-_I'm just really- I'm just mad. I'm just really mad at all of you. I'm just mad, okay?_-__

__-_You? *You're* mad? Since when did you think it was your right to be mad here?_-__

__-What do you have to be angry about? _I'm the one who keeps getting rejected, okay?_-__

__-___No, no, it's not okay… you egotistical… selfish… male! You aren't the only one who gets to be angry._-__

__-_Who are you to judge me?_-__

__-_No one. I'm no one, remember?_-__

__-_Yes, how could I forget? The almighty Temperance Brennan descended from her lofty mountain top to cavort with the rest of us mere mortals when she made her famous unilateral proclamation of self-righteous, self-indulgent, smug, silly, stupid bullshit!_ Six years! Six years, and you just decide. *YOU* decide that you're done, and so we're done, and breeze into my goddamn office like you're simply giving me an update on a case, when, in reality, you're blowing our partnership all to hell and informing me of said fabulous decision without so much as a single word of warning- -__

_-Oh, you mean like the amount of warning I got when you ran your fat, stupid, big mouth to Hannah?-_

_-She was my girlfriend. I loved her. We were together. It was my duty- -_

_-Oh, just stop, okay! There was absolutely no reason, none whatsoever why you needed to tell her... unless, *unless* it was for one of two reasons. One, if you told her because you were really thinking about the implications of my talk, because I was a threat to your relationship with her? Fine. But, you said I wasn't and so there was no threat there. That means you should have kept your mouth closed. Which, leads to the second reason why you caved and told her. You confessed because you felt guilty! You confessed because you felt guilty and didn't want to feel that way so you did it to ease your own fucking feelings in the situation, you selfish bastard!-_

_-You know what? That's rich coming from you. I'm not certain when you turned into this big a bitch, but when you're with someone, when you love them? It's them. Just them. Not you, your girlfriend, and your partner in some weird twisted three-way.-_

_-That's very amusing coming from you. St. Seeley the Honorable Martyr, who does what must be done to please and protect the woman he loves at whatever particular moment he's in, no thought, no consideration of anyone but St. Seeley's latest and greatest lay._-__

___-_Oh, you're calling me the inconsiderate one? Really? That's funny coming from a woman who, in the span of 60 minutes simply snapped her fingers, made six years of our lives disappear in an instant, throwing them away because she was petty, stupid, and spoiled brat!_ You couldn't be bothered to sit down, talk, let me explain things. No. You did what you always do. You got hurt, and you wanted to punch something, so you did it by blowing up our partnership like it meant absolutely nothing. Like it was completely worthless. You, you, stupid spoiled brat.-_  
><em>_

__-_You know what... six years later… you're still a bully… but, now, it's even worse… you're not only a bully and a liar, Booth! _

_-__*YOU* were the one who walked away, Bones—not me._ Three times, as a matter a fact. The night in front of the Hoover, the day in the airport, and the day in my office. So, tell me again which one of us is the one who keeps leaving?-__

__-_I may have walked away, but you walked away and kept walking after I stopped and tried to come back. So, tell, me, who's the one who really left?_-__

__-_You told me to go!_-__

__-_And you should know by now that Temperance Brennan 101's seminal equation is Emotion+Change= Fear and Running. It's a constant, Booth. Just like Einstein's Theory of Relativity. It doesn't change. It's never changed. You should have known that. And, you should have followed, but *you* didn't. You didn't even try!_-__

___-_And neither did you. A year... a year went by, and there was nothing. NOTHING._-_  
><em>_

_-__I don't even know who you are… it… none of it was real… all of it was lies… and you stupid, egotistical… shallow… hurtful… brainless… heartless… cruel… liar! _-_  
><em>

_-__Don't you dare walk away from me. You do NOT get to walk away from me again._-_  
><em>

_-_ _Get away from me._-__

__- _No. _We aren't done here.___-_____

___-__ Don't tell me what to do.____-_____

_____-__You *are* going to stop, and you *are* going to listen to me.__-_____

_____-__ LET. GO. OF. ME. NOW.__-__  
><em>__

__-__ _I loved you. __-__  
><em>

___-__If you loved me… I hate to think what you do to people when they really piss you off, Booth. Because, you know what… your love? It sucks. It cuts and bites and hurts and makes the one you say you love bleed. You cut me and left me to bleed until there was nothing left. There is *NOTHING* left.__-___

___-__You were the one who turned me down, remember?__-___

__-___You keep saying that. Why do you keep saying that as if it is a single sentence that somehow can grant you universal absolution for every mistake that *you've* made? How about this one then? You were the one who let me walk away. I've spent *months* thinking about that, and you know what, Booth… I've come to one conclusion… when you let me walk away… when you let me do that… it proved, beyond a reasonable, shadow of a doubt… you lied… you *NEVER* loved me. You never could have loved me and let me walk away. __-__  
><em>

___-__You do not get to say those things… to me… tonight.__-___

___-__And I hate fig trees… I fucking hate them. You were stupid... and so - male! Stupid, and lonely, and hurt, and desperate, and horny, and I hate you for giving in. Why did you give in? I HATE YOU.__-___

___-__I never lied when I said I loved you__.-___

___-__If you honestly have talked yourself into that over the past four months, Hannah really must have fucked what was left of your Neanderthal-sized brain straight out of your skull. __-__  
><em>

___-__I'm warning you….__-___

___-__Let go of me.__-__  
><em>

___-__I loved you, I still love you. Now, whatever else you want to deny… what else you want to yell at me about… blame me for… you're a fool if you doubt that… a goddamn fool.__-__  
><em>

__-___I'm warning you one last time, let go of my arm.__-___

___-__Or, what, Bones…. What exactly do you think you can do to hurt me that you haven't already done? __-__  
><em>

And, that's where it ends… the dream ends…. That's it. Nothing else. Just blackness.

* * *

><p>The next morning when I woke up in my apartment… somehow I had made it home. I was still drunk when I woke up again… and I was immediately sick, throwing up all over myself and the bed. Still drunk, I gathered the soiled sheets and bedding and my clothing together, and tossed them haphazardly in the washer to process. And, then I managed to drag myself to the shower… somehow, someway, I did… and when I was finished, I crawled into an old t-shirt and pair of yoga pants, pulled a blanket from the linen closest, and collapsed on the bed once more.<p>

So, that night, in actuality, is what led to my experimentation. One night each week, I endeavored to see if I could recreate the events of that first evening… with erratically confusing, but interesting results.

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	6. Ch 5: Five Months After

He Shouldn't Have Done That

By: Lesera128

Rated: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Brennan ends her partnership with Booth after she considers his confession to Hannah about her the ultimate betrayal. AU.

A/N: I would like to take this opportunity to reiterate something in case anyone asks once they see where this chapter starts to stray. First, this story is appropriately labeled when it is characterized as "Temperance Brennan & Seeley Booth." Second, it is appropriately categorized as "Angst/Drama." Okay, so I did come very close to labeling it as "Angst/Hurt/Comfort," as you will see in coming chapters, but ultimately Angst/Drama won. Those facts are things that are very good things to keep in mind as we proceed. As ever, annoying flames will be fed to my pet dragon. A good piece of advice... if you don't like or agree with the story (be it premise, writing style, plot, characterization, or INSERT RANDOM GRIPE HERE), stop reading, hit the back button, and happy hunting for other stories. It's that simple. Otherwise, carry on. :)~

* * *

><p>Chapter 5 – Five Months After<p>

* * *

><p>Between the last week in January and the third week in March, I spent a tremendous amount of time trying to figure out what had happened. One night, a night after I thought I really had been on my way to putting my past behind me, neatly storing it in a metaphorical mental box in the closet of my memory, things changed. I found out that he was going to propose to her, got the most drunk I can in recent memory, started dreaming about him again – even though it was a different type of dream than the ones that had come before – and after that one dream, nothing.<p>

I went to sleep every night thinking I would dream again, this most recent dream some indication of a shift that, perhaps, I was finally starting to let him go. After all, in the dream I had finally shifted from taking comfort and solace – all positive emotions and feelings from him. That night, for the first time, I said things I had been wanting to say for months. Instead of comfort and solace, there was anger, but truth – and relief. And, unlike all the months of dreams before, this time – this time he didn't seek to merely reaffirm the things the tiny voice in my head said when I was awake. This time, there were new things – hurtful things said… but, when it was said and done, strange at it had been, I feel that the experience had been a cathartic one. And, of course, the dreams have *finally* stopped.

The scientist in me, although I disdain all things Freudian – it is psychology after all – felt a curiosity. Could it really have been that easy? All I needed to was finally find an outlet for my anger, to let it go, say the things I needed to say to him, even if it was just in my dreams? It was such a liberating experience. If I had known it was that simple, I would have done it months ago.

But, as is so often the case, I still needed to know for certain. I was afraid, consciously, that if I believed myself to be in the process of finally letting him go – and moving on – but, I wasn't, when whatever happened to remind me of this fact occurred… well, I didn't want to have another day like I did the morning I woke up in my apartment that morning after with the stale smells of vomit and sadness and rage clinging to me like a second skin. I needed to make certain that the anger was really gone, seemingly exorcised in some alcoholic cathartic purging of my emotional turmoil.

So, as I said, an experiment was called for – one night a week, for six weeks, I did the same thing I had done that night. I went to the same bar, ordered the same drinks in the same exact pattern in the same quantities. I consumed them, walked to catch a cab, glanced in the windows of the Founding Fathers, saw nothing out of the ordinary, went home, and usually ended up very hung over the next day. It got to the point where Cam and the others started to seriously worry about me, but I promised... by the deadline, by St. Patrick's Day, I felt thought I would be able to confidently put the past and the past and not look back. I somehow managed to drag myself into the lab each Friday morning and each week progressed closer and closer to my self-imposed deadline. But, after all of my efforts to recreate the original conditions under which I had had that one final dream – and never had another one – I could only conclude that it was not a fluke that the dreams had stopped. Yes, I was finally ready. I was finally letting go. I had finally *let* go. And, I was happy. Very, very happy, as I had not been for a very long time.

A few days after this revelation, I was at the Anthropology Department conference room at American University congratulating Wendell Bray. He had finally finished his dissertation and had successfully defended it. No longer 'Mr. Bray', Dr. Bray's tenure at the Jeffersonian had come to an end two weeks earlier. He had accepted a position on the faculty at George Washington University and became very excited as we chatted about the new experiences he would be going through as a first-year professor in the fall.

I was a bit surprised after the defense, when Dr. Bray asked if he could walk me to my car. He said he needed to discuss something with me in private. With a nod, I allowed him to follow.

"Dr. Brennan, I just wanted to say how thankful I am, after all these years of help and guidance and effort that you put forth on my behalf," he began nervously, almost like it was a sing-song litany that he had spent time practicing.

Smiling, I gave him an open-handed pat on the shoulder. "Mr. Bray – err, forgive me. Old habits die hard," I said sheepishly. "Dr. Bray, you have been an outstanding student… one of my most brilliant, really. I'm proud of what you've accomplished, and no thanks are necessary on your part. But, you are quite welcome, nonetheless."

He returned my smile and stopped when we stood in front of my car. "Dr. Brennan?"

"Yes, Dr. Bray?"

"I… I know this not be the appropriate time or place… but I'm not sure when I have another chance to ask you, so – here goes," he began.

Curiosity piqued, I wasn't sure what he could possibly ask me at this point in time that would make him nervous….

"I , ahh… I have a personal favor to ask."

"Oh?"

"Yes, you see…."

Wendall asked me two questions that day. Both were interesting… and, after I considered them for a moment, I said 'yes' to both without a second thought.

* * *

><p>Brennan sat on a chair in Angela's office, watching her best friend, sketch pad in hand, work on the tentative beginnings of a facial reconstruction. Casually, as Angela worked, Brennan said, "You know that Mr. Bray successfully defended his dissertation yesterday?"<p>

Angela looked up and nodded. "He mentioned something about that, yeah." She paused, and smiled, and then said, "Our little man is all grown up, Bren. No more 'Mr. Bray'… gosh, I can't believe he's a doctor now. Dr. Wendall. Heh."

"After the dissertation defense, Mr. Bray - err. Dr. Bray, he asked if he could walk me to my car," Brennan relayed.

"Oh?"

"Yes," Brennan said. "He told me he wanted to discuss something of a personal nature with me."

Angela's eyes light up as she set the sketch pad down in her lap. "No, sweetie! He didn't, did he?"

"You mean ask me if I would be willing to meet with one of his friends who is an incoming graduate student at American who wishes for me to consider taking him on as a PhD student and intern here at the Jeffersonian? Dr. Bray was asking me to consider the meeting as a personal favor to him?" Brennan asked innocently.

Suddenly, Angela's mouth dropped and her body sighed. "Oh—well, no… that's not what I was thinking he asked." She picked up the pad again and asked absentmindedly. "What did you say?"

"I said, as a personal favor to Dr. Bray, I would be happy to do so," Brennan chatted.

Angela was sketching again as she said distractedly, "Oh, that's a nice thing for you to do, Bren."

"Dr. Bray then proceeded to ask me, now that our formal relationship as professor/mentor and student/intern has concluded, if I would be willing to go out to dinner with him," Brennan said.

Angela gasped again, this time the sketch pad did drop into her lap.

"Bren!"

A small smile played at the edge of Brennan's mouth. "Yes, Angela?"

"You didn't?"

"What?"

"Tell me you didn't tell that sweet boy no!"

Brennan bit her lip playfully as he said, "I know that you are now married to Hodgins, Angela, but seeing as how you and Dr. Bray did engage in an exclusive sexual relationship for some time, I believe it is appropriate that I inquire whether if I did say 'yes' to his request, if it would in any way bother you since you are my best friend.?

"No!" Angela said. "Wendall's a great guy… and you, well, if a great guy like Wendall can make a great girl like my best friend happy… then no. Hell no, I don't have any problem with it!" She leaned forward in her seat and said, "Please tell me you said 'yes'."

Brennan's smiled widened. "Well, in that case, since I don't want to disappoint you... yes, I did."

"You said 'yes'? Really?"

"Yes, I did," she said with a glint in her eyes.

Angela squealed and said, "Oh, this is so exciting. It's been so long since you've been on a date, sweetie."

Brennan nodded. "Yes… it has… and, I must admit that since our kiss on New Years' Eve, although I have been distracted by… other concerns and considerations, I do remember it fondly. As a matter a fact, he was a better kisser than I remembered when he said goodbye to me today after I accepted his invitation."

Gasping, Angela said, "No, you didn't!"

Her eyes brightening, Brennan nodded her head excitedly. "It was a most chaste kiss, very brief in duration – and in no way were any bodily fluids exchanged… but it felt really, really good, Ange. He's… he's very handsome, and nice… and the way he looked at me when I said 'yes' to dinner… I-I… well, it's been a very long time since someone's looked at me like that."

Angela smiled. "You're going to have so much fun. When are you two going?"

"Friday night. And it's just dinner, but," Brennan said. She stopped and then said, "There is one thing that I'm worried about though, Ange—"

For a moment, Angela was worried about what Brennan was going to say – or *who* she might bring up… but, she was pleasantly surprised when Brennan continued.

"—well, he's just so… *young*, Ange… and I'm so much older than him." She paused and then said, "You don't think the age difference between us is too great, do you?"

At this, Angela chuckled as she shook her head. "Bren, think of it this way… I'm not that much younger than you… and if Wendall was good enough for me to engage in an 'exclusive' sexual relationship, I think you know what my answer is going to be to that question."

Brennan smiled again. She then looked away, but said softly, "You know, Ange… maybe if I'm lucky… this might be the start of something more than just an exclusive sexual relationship. Maybe it could be the start of something… more… I don't know… romantic?"

Angela felt her heart want to burst in hopeful pride for her friend as she reached over and hugged her friend. "If you're very lucky, sweetie, maybe it just might be."

* * *

><p>Friday night came, and Brennan, despite the best efforts of Angela to get her to 'go all out' decided not to overdo her preparations for what was just 'dinner'. She did, however, take the time carefully select a dress and shoes that did not scream 'Dr. Brennan' and did her hair and makeup to match.<p>

They agreed to meet at a new Chinese restaurant that both had been wanting to try, and Wendall looked pleasantly dazed when he saw her get out of the car. He greeted her with a kiss on the cheek – and a single red rose. Brennan smiled, and she let him put his hand on the small of her back as he guided them into the restaurant. The conversation was easy and comfortable, and Brennan was having fun for the first time in as long as she could recently remember.

At the end of the night, Brennan didn't make a big deal when Wendall insisted he pick up the check, and she also reluctantly complied with his request that she read her fortune cookie fortune to him before they were about to leave.

"Okay, but if you add 'in bed' at the end of it like Angela always does, I'm leaving you right here," she said with a warning tone in her voice.

Wendall smiled innocently. "I promise, I won't."

"Okay… it says – 'men see the world one way, women another, and rarely can they ever be rectified'," Brennan said.

At this, Wendall started to snicker, but he looked down and didn't say anything.

Brennan began to laugh too as she said, "Go ahead."

"No."

"You know you want to… one like that… it's just begging for it," Brennan laughed.

"In bed?" Wendall looked up and sniggered.

Brennan's smile widened as she nodded. She then pointed and said, "Your turn."

"Okay," he said as he reached for the cookie. He took it and read, "Mine says 'Never forget that, no matter how hard the King's Men tried, Humpty Dumpty was never the same again after he was cracked the first time.'" Wendall frowned at that, and said, "Hmmm, well that one kind of sucks, doesn't it?"

However, as Brennan heard the words, she felt a knot form in her throat that she hastily pushed away as she forced a smile back on her face.

Looking up, Wendall nodded, "You, you ready? I… I thought… maybe we might take a walk? Get an ice cream cone or something?"

Standing, Brennan accepted his hand, and she nodded. "I'd like that."

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	7. Ch 6: Six Months After

He Shouldn't Have Done That

By: Lesera128

Rated: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Brennan ends her partnership with Booth after she considers his confession to Hannah about her the ultimate betrayal. AU.

A/N: I normally detest writing author's notes, but I feel it necessary to anticipate the questions I know that are coming. So, first... no, this is not turning into a Brennan/Wendalll story (not really). Second, again, no I am not trying to assassinate Booth's character. Third, please read carefully or you will miss things. Last, I *always* welcome constructive criticism (even if it seems counter to what my opinions are on things in my writing), particularly if there is a question or something that is unclear. However, to those to whom that does not apply... a good piece of advice... if you don't like or agree with the story (be it premise, writing style, plot, characterization, or INSERT RANDOM GRIPE HERE), stop reading, hit the back button, and happy hunting for other stories. It's that simple. :)~

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><p>Chapter 6 – Six Months After<p>

* * *

><p>We took things slow. For the first month, we never did more than hold hands or share a few chaste kisses. I think he knew I wasn't ready for more than that… for more than I could give him at that moment. But, he also knew that I wanted to… I desperately wanted to give him more. And, he said we had time… time enough… and so he was patient. And, we had time.<p>

Those first few weeks with Wendall…time, it just went by so quickly. I-I… I was surprised at first, the feelings I was having, the reactions to things that kept occurring. They were positive… so positive, not negative. And, I was enjoying myself. I... I don't know how to describe it. It started out innocently enough only because Wendall had asked. *He* obviously saw something in me, *something* that caught his attention. And, when our professional obligations, those that had made such an interaction inappropriate were removed – setting aside the fact that I'm not sure what I might have done if he had asked before his dissertation defense, given the fact that I had done the same thing to Michael, once upon a time – Wendall pursued it. He pursued *me*. God, it felt good to be wanted… to be desired. To be known for who and what I was, and Wendall still came after me. It was a novel experience.

So, for those first few weeks, it was like I was a teenager again, or at least as I had imagined a typical teenager's life was like when she began dating, had my own experience not been interrupted by my stint in the State of Illinois' foster care system. He called me, not often, but randomly, just to see how I was. On nights when we didn't go out (which weren't very frequent), he called me, and we would stay up late talking on the phone. Sometimes, sometimes even after I left him or he left me, he'd send me a text, or I'd send him a text, just to say goodnight. And, then he'd make an offhand comment about something from earlier, or I would, and then, before I knew it, four hours would have gone by, and it would be 3 o'clock in the morning. And, the talks… they were so great. Wendall already spoke fluent-Brennanese. And, so he didn't tease me too much when I needed something translated into my vernacular. He was so good… so kind… so gentle.

We spent our time doing typical things that people who have just begun to date have always wanted to do when they were single, but couldn't, because they didn't have that magical +1 number to put them into the appropriate label of couple, not single. It started with dinners and walks on the Mall. But, at some point, we added other activities to it. Wendall wanted to go see an action film, and so I went with him. We both decided to attend the occasional lecture at either American or the Jeffersonian followed by a rousing game of mini golf and ending the evening with a pint of beer at a bar near the mini golf course. We went bowling, and he didn't laugh at me when I was horrible at it. We would go to this sports bar that he knew, and we would end up playing pool or darts… and he didn't complain too loudly when I actually legitimately beat him. Once or twice, because he thought I wanted to, and because I thought he wanted to, we went to a club to go dancing. However, we only went once or twice because, really, once you've been a couple of times, how many times do you really need to go?

As more time passed, I realized how much of my free time I spent thinking about him when I wasn't with him. At some point, I had started to smile this unintentional smile… and I was happy – happier than people had seen me in a long time. And, although, they didn't initially know who was the cause of my euphoric behavior (except for Angela) – it *did* eventually become patently clear when Wendall showed up one day at the lab with a bouquet of daffodils and an offer to take me to lunch. It was a loud, bold, brash statement of his intentions towards me. I received a curious look or two from Cam, but all in all, once the change was registered, people seemed to be happy that I was happy.

It also, coincidentally, was that day that Wendall suggested that we go to the diner for a bite to eat. I only felt a momentary sense of hesitation before I nodded. When we entered, and we sat down (not at a certain table, it should be said, but not by any doing by my part on that one), it didn't hurt me as much as I thought it once might have. I didn't panic. I didn't want to start crying. I felt only a sense of nostalgia and a bit of regret as we ordered. And, when Wendall ordered a burger and fries, and offered me some of those fries, I ate one for the first time in months. And, I actually *enjoyed* it. The french fry tasted good to me, and it didn't get stuck in my throat like I had originally envisioned it might when I first tried to swallow it. After that, although I didn't forget anything that had happened in the past… I just didn't care as much. We started going to the diner more frequently, and eventually, I remembered more of my meals with Wendall there than long ago hours spent at another table in front of another man's plate of French fries. Later, shortly after I resumed eating at the diner, on the day I switched on the radio and randomly caught the tail end of a Foreigner song - even if it wasn't "Hot Blooded" - and I didn't immediately have to quickly change to another station – I knew then… I was going to be okay.

I started watch the clock more during the day. I rarely came in early anymore… although I was there promptly by 9 am every morning. I didn't stay very late anymore… and never past 6pm. My marathon sessions in limbo during the weekends seemed to be a thing of the past, and for once, I didn't really care.

And, then, one morning after we had met to go jogging on the Mall, things just happened. It had started to rain, and we were caught in the down pour. My apartment was the closest, and so we took refuge there… and laughing, I pulled Wendall inside… my cold hands on his clammy ones... and *something* else changed in that moment. And, although we had held hands and kissed before… this time, this time it was different. He reached for me, pulled me to him, and he kissed me. It was a sweet kiss, tentative – almost nervous at first… but, at some point, I'm not sure if it was because of me, or because of Wendall, but one of us accidentally had one of our tongues slip out, and then we were kissing. And, that kiss turned from nervous to frenzied and hard and desperate with desire and want on both our parts. And, when we pulled back, he had this look in his eyes. It was, again, tentative, but, also… I saw want in his eyes. Wendall *wanted* me… and he was asking, even though he hadn't said a word. Then, I realized that I wanted him, too … and so I nodded, shyly… and blushed a deep red… and gently reached out to take his hand, and we spent the rest of the morning making love.

It was one of the best days of my entire life. I should have known that things wouldn't last – they never do. But, the universe was kind to me this one time because the metaphorical other shoe didn't drop because of Wendall… but because of *him*.

* * *

><p>Brennan was standing next to Sully on the banks of the Potomac River at the edge of an estuary that came under federal domain because of it's proximity to an EPA-protected agricultural zone of influence. The late springearly summer rains had swelled the rivers and lakes and bays of the DC area during what was usually drought season. And, for once, Brennan was mildly annoyed when Sully dragged her out on this case because it meant she would be staying at the lab a lot longer than she had originally envisioned when she had woke up that morning in Wendall's arms. However, ever the professional that she was, Brennan did prepare herself when Sully warned her the find was particularly gruesome and would be difficult, both metaphorically and forensically.

"Okay, Sully, I'm here. What've got?" Brennan said, as she felt her boot squishing into the soft mud of the river bank.

Gesturing Sully said, "I, ah… you just better see for yourself, Tempe. An EPA official found it when she was coming out to check how much of the river water had risen because they're afraid of contamination in the estuary."

He pointed to pile of what looked to be rocks and shells that sat on the muddy river bank.

Bending down, Brennan pulled on her latex gloves as she tried to figure out what she was looking at.

Sully came to stand behind me and pointed with a sigh. "It is human, right?"

Brennan squinted at the pile of what she could only describe as a mass of... *something*. She could see slime and dirt and shells - absentmindedly she thought how happy this case would make Hodgins - and, then, still squinting at the mass, she saw it… the calcified dull glint of bone. Brennan began to prod the mass as gently as she could to see if she could get some idea of what she was seeing besides something that she knew was made of bone. Eventually, moving around it and quirking her head, yes, Brennan did finally see it. She saw the beginnings of a small jaw bone, detached from a smaller skull, protruding from the amorphous block that had been hauled from the river by the rising waters. Brennan sighed as she looked up and nodded. "Yes, it's human. I won't be able to give you a sex until we can free more of the bones from the fusion they've been compacted into here, but, it's definitely human. From what I can see, I would say Caucasian… and an infant. Less than a year old from the look of what I can see of the jaw."

"Any idea how long it might have been down there?" Sully asked.

Slowly, Brennan shook her head. "No… not… Hodgins will be able to tell us when he does his thing with the sea creatures and other stuff, but, if I were to guess… yes, a very long time. Years, possibly."

Sully looked at her, amusement and surprise evident on his face.

"What?" Brennan asked, looking up at him.

"'Does his thing'? If you were to *guess*?" he asked with a smile. "Since when do you 'guess', Tempe?"

Standing up, she snapped her gloves off as she said, "I am a very highly evolved creature, Sully, thank you, very much." And with a smile of her own, she turned and walked past him as Sully informed the techs about what needed to go back to the Jeffersonian, i.e., basically everything.

* * *

><p>Cam stood next to Brennan on the platform as they considered best how to proceed. Almost a week after it's initial discovery, the infant's skeleton had been freed from the block of matter that represented a cross-section of the Potomac River's maritime environment that *had* made Hodgins the giddiest Brennan had seen him in a long time. The bones had been cleaned and lay arranged on one of the examination tables staring back at the scientists.<p>

Brennan was shaking her head in frustration as she said, "We should be able to know more about this than the fact that the baby was a Caucasian female less than three months old."

Cam looked at her with a reassuring nod. "And, we will, Dr. Brennan. But, her bones *were* down there for a long time."

Nodding, Brennan said, "Did the fetal bones have enough genetic material left to try for a DNA match?"

Cam nodded. "Yeah. I don't know how, because it doesn't make any logical sense if they've been in the water that long - Hodgins thinks some of the bones may have been protected by the slime secreted by a nest of snails that settled on the bones, but that wouldn't have kept this intact like this for more than a year or so, so he's stumped. Some of the particulates he found are fairly confusing as well."

"Is it possible that the remains were moved from one location to the river at some point?" Brennan asked.

Cam shrugged. "I think that's what the Bugman thinks, but he doesn't want to come out and say it just yet in case he's wrong. So, Hodgins just said that he's 'still working on it'. As for the DNA, yes there was enough marrow in one of the bones that we got a viable sample. Angela's running it now to see if we get any hits on the CODIS database to any of the DNA profiles that are on record. Maybe if we can find out who she's related to, we can figure out where to start looking for reasons as to when someone put her at the bottom of the Potomac and why."

Almost as if she had conjured her, Angela appeared, pale… she was so white, she looked like all the color had simply drained out of her face. She nodded to Brennan as she said, "Bren, can I see you for a moment, please?"

Looking up, Brennan saw her friend and nodded. Moving off the platform, Angela's hand latched tightly on to hers.

"We have a problem," Angela said in a hushed and low voice.

"What?"

"I, ahh… I'm not sure how to tell you this, but… it's Booth, Bren," Angela said.

Brennan immediately stopped walking and looked up at her friend, realizing that her reaction wasn't so much at how she reacted to hearing the name that no one had really mentioned to her for months, but that because Angela had *actually* spoken his name.

"What about him?"

"The case, Booth—"

Shaking her head, Brennan said, "I already made it patently clear to the FBI that I would not be working any cases with him, Angela. Months ago. They have to go through Sully—"

"No, you don't understand," Angela said, taking her friend's arm and pulling it toward her office.

Once they were inside, and Angela pointed to the large computer screen, Brennan didn't realize that she had actually gasped.

"It's not a case to work *with* Booth, Bren… it's the—the remains, on the platform… oh, honey… I think this might actually be a case *about* him," Angela said breathlessly.

And, to confirm her words, the monitor had Booth's profile highlighted and staring back at us. Angela had obviously paused the search when his profile resulted in a hit for the DNA markers of the remains. His smiling face – the old Booth, not the one that she didn't know anymore – the one that had been taken several years ago and adorned his FBI ID badge… it was that image that stared back at her with a CODIS hit, and a partial genetic match percentage blinking in red in front of them.

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	8. Ch 7: Seven Months After

He Shouldn't Have Done That

By: Lesera128

Rated: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Brennan ends her partnership with Booth after she considers his confession to Hannah about her the ultimate betrayal. AU.

* * *

><p>Chapter 7 – Seven Months After<p>

* * *

><p>I went home that night, and the wellspring emotions that swept over me was overwhelming. A single word kept ringing through my mind….<p>

_How?_

_How?_

_How? How could this be? How?_

It didn't make any sense. It wasn't logical, and I couldn't come up with one good reason that might somehow explain this, aside from the fact that it had to be some type of mistake. There had to have been some type of contamination. There had to have some type of glitch in the link up between the Jeffersonian's computer servers and CODIS. There had to be *something* that logically and rationally explained why Booth's DNA shared a partial match to a female infant's skeleton that had been at the bottom of the Potomac River for years.

I thought back… thought back, and realized – realized for the first time in months that I hadn't thought of him as just *him*… I thought of *him* as 'Booth'. And, I didn't crack. I didn't shatter like I thought I might. I didn't even want to start crying. What I did know is that I felt confused. Despite everything that had ever happened between us, despite everything that we shared or didn't share – the one thing I would stake my life on is the fact that I knew… I *knew* he was not capable of this… he was a good man and not capable of such violence. Not against a child… not against someone of his blood. And, so I knew he would never, ever help another person commit such a heinous act. It just wasn't possible.

I left the lab early that day. Cam, as flabbergasted as I was, told me to go home when Angela brought her into the office, and she saw the same thing I had seen. After several minutes, she saw the look on my face, and nodded at me. She knew what I was thinking, that there was something wrong. Something *had* to explain this. So, until she could figure it out, given how rattled I looked, Cam told me to go home. There wasn't anything that I could do anyway. Cam wanted to take new samples, run new tests to confirm what the DNA-matching algorithms had told Angela about a genetic relationship between Booth and the remains. That was her area of expertise, not mine. And, all that… all *that* would take time in addition to the work Hodgins continued chipping away at as his efforts came at the problem from another angle. Surely, the particulates and water samples would tell him *something*, and… God, it just doesn't make *any* sense. My brain stopped working… and so I went home, more on a dazed type of autopilot than anything else.

When I got home - how he knew, I don't know - Wendall was waiting for me. He was waiting for me outside my apartment's door with a container of potato and leek soup, a loaf of crusty French bread, and a happy look of expectation as he waited to greet me. And, when I saw him, I pulled him to me, let me feel the warmth and solidness that was his strength, and for just a little while… just a *little* while, I decided that I could be vulnerable, let him help me – let him in and do what he wanted to do when I hadn't let other people in before….

And, that night… that night, after the soup and bread, that night, after a bottle of red wine that I had started to drink again at some point, I started to talk. I spoke of it vaguely at first, just hinting at my confusion… my disbelief over the case. He knew me well enough to prompt me when I stopped… but not push, no he didn't push too hard when I had only paused to gather my thoughts in how best next to speak. It was just enough… Wendall always knew when it was just enough, not too little, just the right amount with me. And, one thing led to another, and somehow in talking about the case, I said Booth's name for the first time to Wendall… and, finally… finally I knew was ready to tell someone.

I told him about the case. And, as I started talking about the case and why I was so rattled, I started talking about Booth. And, then, as I started talking about Booth, I finally told Wendall about the real reason I had severed the partnership - something I had never even more than vaguely alluded to with others... even Angela. After it happened, I just wanted it over and done and in the past. So, I didn't talk about it to anyone outside of my dreams... not until that day that I started talking to Wendall. I told him everything about that day in the office, and I told him everything that I felt and had gone through in the very lonely and dark months after it happened. Wendall, although he might have suspected from what he had seen during those months, and from what he knew of Booth and I, didn't understand at the time why the act had almost destroyed me before I finally started to talk. However, if this... thing between he and I was going to be given a chance - that was what I needed to do to see if I could be happy, right? - then he needed to be told. I had to explain. So, I talked, and then I told him everything. It was like a confession. Once I started talking, I couldn't stop talking until I had purged everything from my mind and my heart. I started with the very first case when Booth had walked into the lecture hall at American and interrupted my lecture and didn't stop until I spoke of the very last time I saw him through the window that night at the Founding Fathers. I told him everything, because that's what Hannah had told me couples did, right? I had to, I had to tell him… because… we *were* a couple… and I found… that was a lot more comforting, a lot more reassuring than I ever thought I would find the idea to be. So, I did.

I continued to talk, just talk… I don't know how much time went by. At the time, I didn't really even stop to think that maybe I shouldn't tell him things. Because, the connection with Booth that I had once felt... if it wasn't there anymore, if it wasn't important... why should I value it? Protect it? Keep it intact? During the course of my relationship with Booth, it had served its purpose. Now, now, it was gone. So, there was no reason not to talk. The bond of trust, what I had viewed as the most private, intimate, sacred thing in my life with Booth – the one thing that would have prevented me from so much as speaking his name to Wendall, once upon a time… I knew, then, and accepted the fact for what it was… that bond lay shattered and in pieces and scattered to the winds, never to be repaired, barring one of Booth's divine acts of intervention. However, since I didn't believe in God or miracles, I knew what was done was done. It was broken, beyond repair, and in telling Wendall, I didn't care that I was doing the exact same thing that he had done, and in so doing had prompted me to break our partnership. Yes, I violated the very trust I had been so angry at Booth for… but, I didn't care. It didn't matter to me. What mattered was that Wendall was here and wanted me and fought to be with me when Booth never had… and so, I told him everything... except for one thing. There was only one thing I kept for myself... kept from everyone. The baby. I left out the part about the baby. There was no need to bring *that* up, after all. She was gone, she was never coming back, she had left me, too, and there was no point in sharing *that* particular piece of information, particularly since Booth had never even known.

As I talked, the only time Wendall showed any type of response… the only time during the entire three hours that I spoke when he had a physical reaction that he didn't hold back about was the part when I got to the night of my own accidental death in Woodland. As I told him about how Booth had saved me… and the tear-soaked emotionally-wrenching confession I made on the way back, I saw him tense a bit. God, I still never should have gotten in the car with him that night… but, I did, and I told him, and he rejected me… and left me crying and shivering and alone on the steps of the Jeffersonian as the SUV pulled away, and he didn't look back. That was the only point in the entire ramble that I saw a response from Wendall. And, immediately, I knew it for what is was… and it was anger. His jaw tightened, his right fist clenched, and he had a flash of indignant fury brightly burn for a moment in his eyes. But, then it was gone, and I kept talking… and when I was done, I asked him if he had any questions.

He shook his head slowly, and said, "No, Tempe… I don't have any questions."

I nodded, brushing away the tears that had fallen, and smiled weakly. "Thank you."

Wendall smiled himself, confusion evident on his face. "For what?"

"For being here," I said automatically. "For just being here, and being you, and listening…."

Wendall smiled at this and reached over and brushed a lock of hair out of my eyes as he said, "Of course. There's no place I'd rather be."

I chuckled. "I'm sure that's not true."

"Of course, it is… the woman I love is in pain… where else do you think that I'd rather be?" he said.

It took a moment, I think, for him to realize what he had said. And, as soon as he did, Wendall looked away. He was quiet for a minute and then said softly, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to just slip out like that…but, I… I'm not taking it back. I, ah, I've been wanting to say it to you for a while, and—"

"You love me?" I asked, incredulously.

He looked up, and nodded. "Yeah, Tempe, I do. I have for a while now. I know that you probably don't feel the same way about me, and that's okay, I know… I knew even before you told me about all this… this bullshit with Agent Booth… and, I… I didn't say it to and expect you to say it back. I just wanted you to know… and—"

"*You* love *me*?" I asked again.

Slowly, he smiled and said, "Yeah. I mean… you're so easy to love, once you've stopped hiding yourself, so why wouldn't I?"

"I-I-I... that's not a good idea, Wendall," I replied softly.

"Why?" he smiled at me.

"Because... because... everyone who's ever told me that they loved me... or told me that they *thought* they loved me at the time... they always leave me. Things, well... they never end well," I said.

"Tempe?"

Looking up at him, I tilted my head as I replied, "Yes?"

"Do you want me to leave you?" he asked softly.

I felt my throat tighten as I shook my head. "No... No, I don't. God, no. I want... I want you to stay."

He smiled again, reaching out to caress my cheek. "Then I will," he said. "I'll stay. I won't go away... I won't leave you. I promise."

At those words, I cried out a little, and, at first I think he was scared he had hurt me someway, said the wrong thing. I.. it took me a minute, but I eventually gathered my shocked thoughts about me enough to reach out and to show him how wrong he was. He hadn't hurt me… in fact, for the first time, I felt as if he had helped heal me. This part of me that was still raw and wounded and—the part I had been trying to piece back together myself. It was still cracked and not the same as it had been before the break, but, it was whole and still beautiful to someone. And, yes, I couldn't say to him what he had already said to me... I couldn't tell him that I loved him and not have it be a lie, not at that point in time. But, as Wendall said, we had time, and... I had told him the truth about everything. I could give him that much, at least. I could let him in, and I could tell him as a sign of my feelings for him. And, in that action, I was content for the moment. So, later that night when he was holding me in his arms after we had made love, I breathed the first truly easy breath I had breathed all day… and that night, despite all that had happened, the last person on my mind was Booth. For once, I didn't think of him at all… and that was okay.

* * *

><p>Two weeks had passed, two weeks that were some of the most frustrating and confusing of my life because of that damn case. When Cam had insisted that the DNA tests be rerun… and, this time in their entirety since Angela had never completed the scan when she paused it after Booth's profile came up as a partial match, and she spent the next two days pouring over the results. When Cam was done, at last, she was able to tell Sully - all of us, really - what he wanted to hear… to a certain extent. Yes, there was a DNA match between Booth and the remains. They *were* genetically related. But, there was no genetic link that proved in way he could be the father. Cam's finding's were confirmed when, several hours after Booth's profile had registered a hit, so did Jared's.<p>

And, so, with a sigh of relief, Sully was able to sit down with me, and we talked about how best to proceed with the case. I was nervous because the case involved Booth, and I didn't want to have anything to do with it as that might bring me into contact with him again. I hadn't seen him since that night at the end of January through the open door of the Founding Fathers four months ago… and I didn't want to…not because I was scared or afraid or even confused about it. It's just that I had started to move on, and he was the past, and the past had no place in my life right now. I was happy now… I had Wendall. And, he wanted me… he *loved* me, and I really didn't need or want to be reminded of the pain I had gone through because of Booth.

So, reluctantly… reluctantly, Sully didn't fight me when I told him I didn't want to be there for the interview with Booth. If he needed me when he interviewed Jared, that was fine. Somehow I doubted that my presence would be necessary, however, given the fact that Booth would probably conduct his own interview with Jared once he heard the news. Unfortunately, despite the entire team's best efforts over the next two weeks, we didn't make much progress on the case. Booth and Jared - and Hank ,as well, once Booth had spoken with his brother and realized that neither one of the knew what in the hell was going on - brought Sully to talk to Hank in the hopes of constructing alternative explanations that might clear up the mystery of how the genetic link between the remains and the Booth family came to exist in the first place. After further testing ruled out Booth and Jared as potential fathers for the infant, only one person remained ho could possibly be connected, genetically, to Booth, Jared, and the remains, and thus bear responsibility for it… Booth's father. I didn't relish the idea of having any discussion with Booth about *that* topic… even if we had still been on good terms. I knew what a private and painful topic is what for Booth to speak of... and he *never* talked about it. So, Sully did the best he could… but, it was slow going and not much progress was made.

And, then, one day, as is so often the case… something broke for us. A hospital from Delaware had managed to finally Fed-Ex a paper copy of a record Angela had requested in a 'Hail Mary Pass', according to Sully. It was one of a number of leads we had tried to track down once Hank recalled that Booth's father had once been treated there for surgery to remove his appendix after he left Booth and Jared in Hank's care. The idea was if we could get a some type of lead on his father's medical records, although we weren't foolish enough to think of how to track down Joseph Booth's DNA, we could at least start to confirm or rule out that he was indeed the father of the female infant whose remains were still in the Jeffersonian's bone storage. The hospital, however, had not digitized records that far back. As a matter a fact, while they promised to check their records storage, they couldn't even promise that records that old hadn't been destroyed a long time ago. But, as Sully had said, it was worth a shot... and, so, a 'Hail Mary Pass' was made. And, although we didn't realize it at first, the pass had been euphemistically caught. We just didn't know it immediately.

It turns out that the records the hospital finally sent us weren't the actual ones that Angela had requested. No, what we received was not the chart of one Joseph John Booth, hospitalized in 1979 for appendicitis. Instead, it was the chart of one Sarah Mary Jackson Booth… who had been admitted in August 1978… for the delivery and birth of a baby, simply referred to in the records as 'Baby Girl Booth'. The chart indicated that one Joseph John Booth was listed as the father, hence the reason the hospital had sent them to the Jeffersonian. I normally don't believe in providence, but in this one particular case, it seemed as if luck was on our side. Now, we finally had a lead… and, Sully… Sully knew that he couldn't leave me out of this one. And, so, reluctantly, I agreed to meet him at the Hoover in one conference rooms – and, for the first time in months, it was there that I finally saw Booth again.

* * *

><p>Brennan remained mostly quiet throughout the interview. Sully did most of the talking, and Brennan spent the majority of the interview looking down at her hands. She only responded when Sully knew he needed her to answer pertinent forensic questions. For the most part, Booth sat and remained quiet as well… merely listening.<p>

At some point, another FBI agent stuck his head into the conference room and pleaded with Sully to come with him for a moment about an urgent development in an unrelated case. Sully shot a look at Brennan. He saw panic in her eyes, but she saw the pleading in his, and knew it was important, so with an imperceptible nod, she gave her permission. Bolting out of his seat, Sully followed the agent, leaving the pair alone for the first time since she had broken their partnership on that horrible, horrible day.

The silence weighed between the pair before Booth was the first to speak.

"How are you, Dr. Brennan?"

The question was a simple one. Brennan slowly raised her head, and she saw Booth staring at her intently. She felt a stab of *something* when she realized that he hadn't called her 'Bones'… nobody called her that anymore.

Forcing a nod, she said formally, "I am doing quite well, thank you."

"You look great."

She nodded again, and said, "Thank you." Pausing, Brennan looked at him and said, "Given the recent emotional trauma the news about your parents and the… the discovery of the remains of your sister must have inflicted on your psyche, you seem to be coping adequately."

His eyebrow arched as Booth said, "I am… I guess." Pausing, he added, "Hodgins told me he doesn't think she was down there that long... maybe only a year or two? Before that, she was buried... he thinks probably somewhere in the Chesapeake region, but he's still trying to narrow it down."

"I'm sure his efforts will ascertain a more specific location once he's completed his analysis," Brennan said formally.

"Yes, I'm sure he will. He's good at that kinda stuff, you know... you all are. Squint stuff-" Booth was quiet again for a moment before he looked up at her and said, "So… I-I... I heard… you're… you're with Wendall, now?"

Brennan's head snapped up at the question. She was surprised by such a straightforward question… especially from him. Nodding, she decided simplicity was the best approach. "Yes, I am."

"And… ahh, you're… you're happy? Things are… he's… ummm, he's what you want?" Booth asked.

Brennan bit her lip before she nodded slowly and said, "Yes… he is. I… more than I ever imagined he would be."

She thought, for a moment, when she looked up, she saw a flash of pain in his eyes. But, it was gone so quickly, she decided she had imagined it.

Booth was nodding at her and said, "That's great, Bones. I mean, Wendall? I, ah, never would have thought- but... I'm very happy for you… you… you deserve to be happy."

And, there it was… the name. She closed her eyes for a moment, but said softly. "Thank you… I am." Looking up, she bit her lip as she said, "I'm sorry… about Hannah."

Again, this statement was surprising, but this time it was Booth who grappled for words. He looked away before he nodded and said, "Yeah, well… thanks." He paused before he added, "Things just didn't work out between us."

"That must have been very painful for you," Brennan said quietly.

Looking at her, he nodded, "It was."

"I'm sorry for that," she said.

"And… I'm sorry," he said.

At this, Brennan shook her head in confusion. "For what?"

"For… everything, Bones… for everything that happened between us… mixed signals… missed chances… everything," he said in a tone that was barely more than a whisper.

Biting her lip, Brennan felt as if she had been punched in the stomach.

"I-I…" she felt a sudden wave of panic that she hadn't felt in months suddenly wash over her. "Excuse me, I have to go."

Standing, she was almost out the door, when his voice called her.

"Bones—"

She stopped, not because she wanted to, but because her legs wouldn't respond to the command to proceed forward. Booth took her silence to be a sign to proceed with what he was going to say.

"I, ah… I just wanted you to know that… I know that you're with someone now… and I'm not saying what I said for any other reason than because it was something that was the right thing to do, and I've been wanting to do it for a while now, but... I... regret how things turned out, you know? And, I just thought you should know that... and that I really did mean it when I said that I'm happy for you. You deserve to be happy."

The earlier punch to the gut that she had felt, now turned into what felt like several hundred pounds of bricks pressing down on her chest as she said, "Thank you."

"Is it serious?" he asked.

Brennan stopped, and then turned to him, unsure at first how to answer the question. But, then she nodded firmly. "Yes... yes, I think it is."

There is was. She had said it. She had admitted it to herself... for the very first time… even if it was a vague reference to the verbalization of how she felt. She had said it... and it wasn't to Wendall. It was to Booth. The realization shook her on several fronts, and Brennan felt panic and fear and anger start to course through her system… and, suddenly, she couldn't stand it anymore. She simply felt too overwhelmed to do anything more than walk away from him again… and, again, he let her go.

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	9. Ch 8: Eight Months After

He Shouldn't Have Done That

By: Lesera128

Rated: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Brennan ends her partnership with Booth after she considers his confession to Hannah about her the ultimate betrayal. AU.

* * *

><p>Chapter 8 – Eight Months After<p>

* * *

><p>After the incident at the Hoover with Booth, I refused to go back to that building for the time being. I couldn't… every time I started to think of the conversation that Booth and I had had… every single time, I started to shake. First with anger, then with rage, then with panic, then with fear, then with regret, and then, the whole process would just start all over again.<p>

Later that evening, Wendall came over and found me still like that. I was just sitting on my couch when he knocked. I vaguely called to him to come in as I had left the door unlocked from when I had earlier stumbled inside. And, there he found me - just sitting, just starring, just shaking. I wasn't crying. I wasn't making a noise. Carefully, gently, he asked me what was wrong. At first, I wasn't sure what to say. What *was* there to say, exactly? What *was* wrong except for the fact that I had seen Booth, and he had told me that he wished I was happy? I shook my head, and struggled to verbalize the mash of emotions wafting over me.

For a time, when he saw I was struggling to provide me with an answer, but couldn't, Wendall came, sat down, and just held my hand. We said nothing for a long time. At last, after who knows how much time had passed - I know it must have been a while since it had still been partially light outside when he arrived, and when I finally started to come back to my senses, it was dark. Then, finally, I was ready, and I told him. I used simple words, short sentences, and told him what must have been, for him, a most disappointing let down after all the expectation that my melodramatic response had caused. I told him, and he held me, and reassured me, and I don't know why, but I was surprised at myself when things started to feel just a little less intense, a little less chaotic after I had spoken. I realized that there was no logical reason to feel the fear, the panic, or the regret that had characterized what I would later recognize as having been a mild, but long-lived panic attack.

After I began to feel as I had before the day's events transpired, Wendall asked me what I wanted for dinner, I shrugged, and he left me only for a moment to disappear to see what might be palatable to have delivered since we both needed to eat *something*... and obviously, I was in no condition to go out to dinner as we had originally planned after the day I had had. That first day was hard, very hard, but the first days always are. I continued to put one foot in front of the other. I didn't see Booth alone again, and gradually, a few days turned into a couple of weeks… and soon, a month had passed, and it was almost as if the entire conversation had just been another one of the distant memories I had of the conversations I used to have with the Booth of my dreams.

We spent the majority of those weeks, instead of doing things as time passed so quickly... but just talked. We talked of many things, and I found I very much enjoyed not having to hold every thought, every response in my own head. I could talk to Wendall about almost anything for any reason... except that I wasn't quite ready to discuss with Wendall what I had told Booth just before I had left the conference room in the Hoover that day. I know that Wendell knew my opinion on our continued interaction. It was positive, fun, and I did enjoy spending time with him. I believed, given the right amount of time, it might lead to something more, but that's what I needed - time. Without more time, I just couldn't give him more than that... no matter how much I would have liked to... or hoped I would eventually be able to do so. However, Wendall seemed content with that which I was able to give him and didn't ask me for more than I was able to give him before I was able to give it.

At one point, he invited me home to his parent's home for a Sunday evening meal. It was... unusual. Obviously, when Wendall's mother met me, she was of two minds. On one hand, she knew I had been his dissertation adviser, internship supervisor, and friend for several years. On the other hand, I was also now the woman who her son was dating seriously enough that he had brought her home for Sunday dinner. And, I was older than him - a *lot* older than him... but, for her son, since he seemed happy, and I seemed to be the one I wanted at the moment, she remained civil and cordial. I found myself warming to her no-nonsense goodness - she's the one whom Wendall took after more than his father in that aspect - and by the end of the evening, I could honestly say I had had an enjoyable experience. On the way back that evening, we chatted about his plans for the upcoming academic semester. It was now late July, and he would begin teaching at George Washington in about a month's time.

"So, tell me again - what courses did the department chair say had enough enrollment so that your sections won't be cancelled?" I asked.

Wendall's eyes remained on the road as he said, "Two sections of Introduction to Anthropology and one section of the Foundations in Forensic Anthropology."

"Hmmm, but those are all undergraduate classes, as I recall?"

"Yes," he nodded. "Dr. Davis mentioned something about maybe being able to schedule me for a 4000-level senior seminar in Osteology, but he said it would be at least a couple of semesters before they would be able to work me into the rotation for graduate seminars. And, I'm *okay* with that. I'm scared enough as is with the idea that I'm going to have 150 freshman twice a day staring at me like people normally stare at you when you walk into a classroom, the only difference is I feel like I have absolutely no idea why they would be doing that."

I laughed at this. His insecurity and anxiety about teaching for the first time as a tenured-track faculty member really was completely undeserved... and somewhat adorable. "Don't worry, Wendall. You'll be fine. There is an extremely high probability that you already know more about anthropology and its various sub disciplines by at least a power of ten when compared to the students who will be enrolling in your course for the first time."

He chuckled in response. "I hear you saying the words, but it still doesn't make me feel any better. Logically, I know you're right... but my gut tells me... all it takes is one. We both know, just *one* smart pain-in-the-ass student can throw me off, make me look like an idiot in front of the entire class, and for the rest of the semester no one will respect 'the new baby doc in Foundations'," he parroted.

Smiling, I said, "Don't worry. I'll help you. It's not very true that you *need* any help, but anything I can do that will make you feel better, more confident, as the first class approaches, just let me know."

At this, his hand came over and reached for mine as he gave it a squeeze. "You really are incredible, you know that?"

I wasn't sure what I had done to make him keep thinking this, so I just smiled, nodded slightly, and squeezed his warm hand back in return.

* * *

><p>A few days after the dinner at Wendall's parents' home was Angela's birthday. She had given birth to little Michael a few weeks before, during the drama that ensued with the mystery of the remains of Booth's little sister. However, not long after little Michael had been born, Angela already seemed to be bouncing back from her labor and delivery with an energy and level of enthusiasm that were somewhat frightening in their intensity. Since the baby was only a few weeks old, and Angela was still recovering from the effects of the birth on her body, Hodgins had decided to forgo his normal plan to throw a huge beach party that he had talked about putting together before Micheal's birth. Promising that the beach party was not cancelled, just postponed until Labor Day weekend, he had reconciled his desire to commemorate his wife's birth in a spectacular way with her desire for a more low-key, low-stress get together. On the actual day of Angela's birth, a small and much more intimate dinner party was being thrown at the Hodgins' estate. The big party would come later.<p>

I was running late because I had spent too much time trying to wrap Angela's present perfectly, and I felt frustrated at myself as I rushed to finish getting ready for both being behind schedule and the reason that had prompted my tardiness. Wendall watched me buzzing back and forth between the bathroom and the bedroom with an amused expression on his face, as he had finished getting ready a half hour before. But, Wendall was quiet and wisely said nothing, despite the smile on his face. I finally let out a grunt of frustration as I still struggled to tame my hair into some semblance of non-frizz horribleness.

Coming up behind me, Wendall placed two hands on my shoulders gave me a light kiss on the cheek as he said, "Don't worry about it so much… you look spectacular."

"You'd think I'd look good with a brown paper bag over my head," I retorted.

He laughed, "Well, yeah… but only if you're wearing only the brown paper bag." Wendall waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and I reluctantly laughed.

"We're going to be *so* late," I frowned again, as I glanced at my watch.

"Don't worry about it, Tempe. We'll call Ange on the way there so she knows what's going on," he said. He then glanced out the window as he said, "I am kinda worried about the weather, though. It looks like it's about to start pouring. Maybe we should just take my car? I can run and go pull it up so you won't get wet."

Looking at the clock and then the window, I reluctantly nodded. "All right. Just be careful, okay? And, don't forget to grab that bottle of vodka from the kitchen counter. I told Angela that I'd bring it for her since she said Hodgins was almost out, and they want to make that new martini that she's been talking about all week."

With a smart salute, Wendall turned on his heels and left. By the time he pulled the car around front, and I had climbed in, the rain started to drizzle. The drizzle very quickly turned into a spectacular thunder and lightning storm that is quite normal during the summer weather one will encounter if in the DC area during the month of July. However, since we were running late, and although I had telephoned Angela to let her know of our impending tardiness so she wouldn't worry and could adjust plans accordingly, I was still frustrated and obsessing over that irksome detail.

As we drove in the direction of Hodgins' estate, the sound of the rain falling provided the only sounds for the first few minutes as Wendall concentrated on driving, and I brooded. At some point, Wendall grew tired of the silence and flicked on the radio. He flipped through the channels until one station caught his attention. I recognized the song immediately. Wendall, for his part, turned the radio up a couple of levels as his smile increased, and he began to slightly bob his head to the beat of Eddie Money's "Take Me Home Tonight."

After a few seconds, Wendall suplemented his head bobbiing with an off-key rendition of the song. I looked over and rolled my eyes at him when he put on a falsetto voice and crooned one of the refrains, "Be my little baby, be my little baby."

He shook his head with his smiling turning into a griin. "Come on, Tempe. It's Eddie Money."

"You know, considering your age, you're quite well versed in the musical classics from the 1980s," I couldn't help but tease him a bit.

When we had first started dating, he knew that I had a weak spot for 80s music. Although Wendall tended to prefer more modern alternative rock in the guise of the Red Hot Chili Peppers and U2, he started to listen to more of the 80s music because of me, because he knew I liked it.

"Hey, 80s music is cool," he said with a wink.

I looked back at the window as I let my thoughts drift as he continued to sing. Then, at the edge of my mind, I suddenly jerked up. "Wendall?"

"Yes, Tempe?"

"Did you remember to grab the bottle of vodka?"

His head stopped bobbing at that question and Wendall's lips pressed into a thin line. "Ummm... hmmm... yeah. I, ah... I meant to grab it on the way out... but, it was starting to rain, and I didn't want to get too wet-"

"Oh, Wendall..." I said.

He smiled at me lightly and said, "Don't worry, Tempe. We can stop at that liquor store on the corner before the turn off to the house. I'm sure they have to have vodka-"

I frowned, but nodded with a sigh. "Okay."

The music continued to play, and his head moved again in rhythm. It gradually transitioned from a slight nodding to a full bop of his head as he resumed singing. "Take me home tonight, I don't want to let you go till you see the light, listen honey, just like Ronnie said—"

I gave him a look at that.

"Oh, come on, Tempe... like I said, it's Eddie Money!" He gave me an encouraging look.

Smiling, I started to feel his enthusiasm spread like some type of infectious laugh. I couldn't help myself as I chimed in at the next lyric, "Be my little baby, baby my darling—"

Wendall grinned back at me in approval as he continued singing.

"Take me home tonight, take me home tonight, take me home tonight—" we both sang.

I was so lost in the moment that, starting to feel a little relaxed and happy and in a mood to enjoy a party, that I didn't realize what was happening until it was too late. The rain was coming down harder, making it difficult to see very much visibility-wise despite the fact that the car's wippers continued to operate at full speed. Then, there was a crack of lightening, and a boom of thunder as the sounds of Eddie Money's song provided the soundtrack as things slowed down to a crawl… and I felt the car move with a sickening force as metal on metal grated my ears. There was the shattering of glass and the screech of tires… and the last thing I remembered was Wendall shouting my name. And, then, again – there was nothing. Just pain and black and overwhelming darkness.

* * *

><p>Angela sat, red-eyed and puffy faced, on the hard chairs that were so familiar to her from various hours spent in hospitals over the course of her life. Some of the occasions had been happy, some of them had been filled with intense pain, but this time – on *this* particular instance, it was sadness that she felt. She was overwhelmed with sadness as she waited for her best friend to wake up.<p>

Physically, physically Brennan had been lucky. Her seat belt and the car's airbags had deployed and had kept her from being ejected out of the car through the shattered windshiefd. She had several cracked ribs, a hairline fracture in her ankle, a nasty gash on her forehead that required stitches - and would most likely leave a scar - and numerous cuts, scrapes, and bruises. However, once Brennan woke up from the drugs the doctors had given her as they ran tests and tried to stabilize her, a new set of injuries would have to confronted.

Eventually, Brennan did awake, groggy and stiff and in pain. Her eyes struggled to focus, and when they did, they fell upon Angela. It took a few minutes, but eventually Angela's words started to penetrate the fog that had settled over Brennan's mind since the darkness had overwhelmed her in the first few moments after the accident.

"There was an accident, sweetie. We're… we're still not quite sure of all the details. But, the highway patrol said that a car from the oncoming lane hydroplaned into your lane… and the, uh, the car hit you guys pretty hard," Angela said.

"I ache all over," Brennan said. "How bad do I look?"

Angela stood and walked to the bed. She brushed a lock of hair out of Brennan's face. "Not bad at all, Bren. You're beautiful, spectacular even."

"Liar," Brennan said.

And, then, something in Angela's wording triggered something in her mind. 'Spectacular.'

"Hmmmm," Brennan said as she closed her eyes, leaned back into the meager pillows of the inclined hospital bed, and took a breath. "I… I hope I at least look better than Wendall does, otherwise he'll never let me hear the end of it."

At her words, Brennan smiled softly to herself and then looked at Angela. Her friend had paled again, and Brennan immediately knew something was wrong, even though her mind was seriously clouded with pain and drugs to numb the pain caused by her injuries.

"Ange?" she asked quietly... innocently even... in a voice no louder than a child's.

Angela bit her lip. Fresh tears were beginning to pool in her eyes.

Struggling to sit up a bit more, Brennan started to panic as she said, "Ange, what is it?"

"Bren-" Angela tried to start. Her voice caught on a lump that had formed in her throat. Angela struggled for breath as Brennan watched on, her panic growing.

"Angela...? What's wrong? What happened?"

"Ummmm, Bren," Angela began with a swallow.

"What?" Brennan pleaded, panic and fear beginning to overwhelm her. "Please, Angela... tell me? What is it? Where's Wendall? What happened to us? To him?"

Angela looked down for a minute, wringing her hands before she stood and took a step closer to the bed.

"Oh, no," Brennan gasped when she saw what Angela was doing as she reached for her friends hand. "No. No. No. No. No. Angela... what is it?" What aren't you telling me?"

* * *

><p>Hodgins, eyes red-rimmed and throat choked with emotion, stood outside the door to Brennan's hospital room. Solemn, Max Keenan stood beside him… and beside Max, stood two grim-faced men - Sully and Booth. When Sully had gotten Angela's call about his partner's accident, he had been out for a beer with Booth, and, after hanging up the phone, dazed and confused, Sully eventually spoke in response to Booth's look of concern. Wendall had suffered from extensive internal bleeding before the paramedics had even gotten to the site. They were trying to resuscitate him, but things hadn't looked good from the moment they lifted him out of the car and found him to be unresponsive. Angela had little information for Sully on Brennan, aside from the fact that she was still alive and the doctors were working on her. Quietly, after a few moments of stunned silence, as the meaning of the words of Angela's message finally set in, both eventually looked up at each other. Neither one spoke, but merely nodded, and went to the hospital to join the others who were already keeping vigil for the injured pair.<p>

At last, hours later, after Brennan had finally woken up, and Wendall's fate, too, had been determined, the two quiet men joined two other quiet men to form a quartet of silent watchfulness. Not a single one of them spoke, with everything that could, or needed to, be said already having uttered hours before... with one lone exception. Only one thing remained to be spoken, to be told... and, now, now all they could do was watch as the one thing that was left to be said was being said by Angela as she spoke to Brennan while they looked on through the window.

Each man watched with intense effort and concentration as they looked through the door's observation window as Angela continued talking. Each man was focused intently on Brennan's face as Angela continued to speak, despite the fact that each man couldn't hear a word that was being spoken. However, all four men *did* eventually hear a single, choked ear-piercing scream rattle the glass of the door, much like a banshee's wail or the cry of a wounded animal. And, each man saw Brennan's chest begin to heave with sobs as tears started to run down her face. They watched as she tried to push Angela away, and they saw as Angela refused to be pushed away. Eventually, Brennan stopped fighting Angela, and her friend climbed into the bed next to her, just holding her as they both cried and didn't stop crying for a long, long time.

* * *

><p>Angela, she… she wouldn't leave me that night, after she told me. But, it didn't matter. None of it mattered. If she didn't tonight, she would at some point. After all, that's what always happens. I know that now. At some point, she'll leave me. They all leave me.<p>

My parents, Russ, every lover I've ever had, Booth, my baby… and now Wendall.

He left me. Oh, how could he? He promised. He said he wouldn't. But, he left. He left me.

It's all gone… and, oh, God… I'm all alone again. Again. I'm all alone. All alone.

Alone.

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	10. Ch 9: Nine Months After

He Shouldn't Have Done That

By: Lesera128

Rated: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Brennan ends her partnership with Booth after she considers his confession to Hannah about her the ultimate betrayal. AU.

A/N: If some dialog looks familiar to you, and you're wondering where it came from because you know you've heard it before, it's not random. Certain wording I have intentionally purloined from episodes in season 6 after "The Body in the Bag." Obviously, that wording is not mine, although I did steal it to bend it to my AU storyline's will. So, yeah, again, just FYI.

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><p>Chapter 9 – Nine Months After<p>

* * *

><p>I went to his funeral. I had to… his parents, and especially his mother. I… I had to go. Angela and my dad and Sully didn't want me to leave the hospital. I was still in fairly banged up shape. Fortunately, most of the issues had not been related to soft tissue injuries... most of the damage I had suffered would always show in my bones. Unlike Wendall, whose soft tissue injuries had killed him, mine were in the skeleton. It made sense, though that Wendall's, was from the softness of the heart... and mine was found in the hardness of the bones. Even now, I can't escape that, can I? So, as I said, reluctantly Angela, my father, and Sully came to the hospital the day before the funeral and arranged my discharge paperwork. I was on crutches, cuts and scratches still healing, badly bruised, but alive. I had planned to stay in back, silently observe things from a distance and let Wendall's loved ones grieve in peace. And, I would have too, but for his mother... who, as soon as she saw me, pulled me into as tight a hug as much as she thought was safe given my recent injuries. She literally dragged me to the front row of mourners. And, there I stood... his mother had Wendall's father on her right, me on her left, and she clasped both of our hands so tightly through the service that I started to lose feeling in my arm at some point.<p>

I don't know how consciously I was aware of such a fact given the point that, at some point during the ceremony... when Angela got up to read a passage from Charles Darwin's journals that had apparently been one of Wendall's favorite literary pieces, I started to cry. I didn't even realize I was crying until I felt the wetness on my cheeks. I was crying, in public, for all to see. It wasn't a loud wailing like the night in the hospital when Angela told me what had happened. It wasn't the choking sobs I had cried over the months because of Booth. No, it was just silent tears that, once they started to fall, continued unabated. Everyone saw it... Wendall's family, fellow neighbors who had loaned him money to pay for school... friends... former fellow graduate students from American... faculty from George Washington's Anthropology Department who had come to pay their respects even though he hadn't lived long enough to start his first semester as a professor - he had missed it by three and a half weeks - ... colleagues from the Jeffersonian, like Cam and Clark Edison and Vincent Nigel-Murray... members of his hockey team... I think even, at one point, I saw Booth standing in the far off distance, just watching in silence. But, I didn't care. All I knew is that I was crying, and I was crying in front of everyone, and the tears wouldn't stop... and I didn't care. This time, unlike when I went to Booth's fake funeral, I cried because, this time, I knew it was okay to cry. This time, though, I'm not quite certain why I cried beside the fact that I knew it was okay, and it was the right thing to do, and I felt like crying, so I did. I cried for Wendall, I cried for myself, I cried for what had been lost in Wendall's potential and our relationship... I cried for what had happened with Booth. But, most of all, I cried because I hoped that if I kept crying then maybe, just maybe, I would not reach that point where I realized that, no, I couldn't wake up to find out that this had all been one very, very bad dream.

It took me a while to figure out that I didn't want to sleep in the early days after the accident had just happened because I equated sleeping with dreaming. At first, I had been in the hospital, I was too numb, too shocked to worry about dreaming. The pain medications helped in the first few days. But, then I left the hospital, and I refused any prescriptions to 'ease' my pain or 'to help' me sleep. No, I wouldn't take anything stronger than ibuprofen. But, there was a cost. Every time I started to drift off, not when I felt asleep, mind you - but, when I was a that extremely relaxed state right in-between waking and sleeping? Well, that was when it started to come. Flashes... images... smells... sounds. The rain. Metal. Blood. And, the radio... the radio kept playing, looped over and over again in my mind. That song... that goddamn Eddie Money song. I blinked it away, forced myself not to think of it. I couldn't... I didn't want to... and I couldn't. The only thought I could spare was the fact that I wondered at what point it had become standard for the soundtrack of tragedies in my life to be comprised of songs from the 1980s. First, Foreigner. Then, Cyndi Lauper. Now, Eddie Money.

No, I just won't do it. I can't. I won't.

I won't think of it. I won't think of him. I won't dream of either. I just won't...

* * *

><p>Angela sat in Booth's office, little Micheal's feet being played with by Booth as he sat on the edge of his desk with the baby carrier solidly placed directly in its middle. Michael was cooing, and, unlike his mother, seemed oblivious to the weight of the world.<p>

"He's so cute, Angela," Booth said.

Smiling, Angela said, "Yeah, he gets that from me, not from Jack. I'm waiting for the Hodgins genetics to kick in at some point, probably when he starts talking in three-syllable words or greater before he's two, but so far he seems to be all Montenegro."

Booth chuckled at this, and then said, "So, as cute as the squint-in-training is, you ready to tell me why you're really here?"

Angela frowned. "I'm that obvious, aren't I?"

Shrugging, Booth said, "Hey, you came with a cute baby. That gets you a certain amount of leeway even if you are being obvious."

Chuckling slightly, Angela thought for a moment and then said, "You aren't going to like why I'm here."

"I won't know that unless you tell me," Booth pointed out.

Nodding, Angela was quiet again for a moment before she said, "You know things at the lab... they've been... very different since... since the accident."

His face sombering, Booth inclined his head for a moment before he nodded. "Yeah, Sully's been kind of... bothered by it. We've talked a fair amount since it happened. I was sorry about all of that. Wendall... he was... he was a good kid."

"Yes," Angela agreed. "He was... and, as painful as it's been losing him... the reason I'm really here is because of Brennan."

At this, Booth's somber frown turned into a very serious one. Shaking his head, Booth said, "Angela, I don't think I can help you with that one."

Her head nodding, Angela said, "Look G-man, just hear me out, okay?" She pointed at Michael as she said, "After all, you *did* admit that I came bearing a cute baby."

Reluctantly, Booth sighed and said, "Okay."

Angela took a breath and then said, "I'm not sure what ever happened between you two. Brennan, well, she's never said much on this issue... even after all this time. And, frankly, what's important right now isn't all that... stuff. What *is* important... and why I'm here is because... Wendall's death... she's taken it really, really hard."

"She cried at the funeral," Booth mentioned thoughtfully.

Nodding, Angela said, "Yeah. And, that's not all. I'm worried about her. *Really* worried about her."

"Why?" Booth asked. "She pulling too many hours down in Limbo in the grand name of compartmentalization?"

"No," Angela said, shaking her head. "That's the old Brennan. Since Wendall... the new Brennan? She doesn't do that anymore. It's like she lost the ability to compartmentalize at some point. Now, she gets up, every day. We see her, she comes into the lab, and I know she's trying, Booth. But, each day I can feel her slipping a little bit more away from us. She's... she won't talk to *anyone*. Not to me... Sully... her dad. Cam's tried talking to her at the lab. Sweets showed up at some point, but she just ignored him all together. Hell, I even tried sending Hodgins to see if she'd talk to him given what they went through with the Gravedigger, but she... she's just walled herself up and won't respond to anyone, to anything."

Booth considered the words for a moment and then said, "Angela, I know you're worried about her, but I don't know what I could do to help, even if I wanted to..." He paused and then said, "She and I said our piece a while ago. But for one very, very brief conversation during the investigation into... well, you know the stuff with my..." The word caught in his throat. He nodded at Angela and said, "You know... the investigation about my family, I... I haven't talked to her in months. I... you really are asking the wrong person here. I just... I'm the wrong person to be asking for help here."

Angela considered his words for a moment and then said, "I'm running out of people, Booth. I see my best friend slipping away a little more each day, and I know that I'm running out of time. If this keeps up, the warm and funny and vibrant and caring person that we both used to know will be gone forever. And... I have to try, you know? I have to do whatever I can to try to see if I can help her... and, I'm running out of things to try, and so that's why I'm here."

"I don't-" Booth shook his head. "I don't even know her anymore, Angela. She and I... we went our separate ways a long time ago." He paused and considered his words carefully before speaking again. "I don't... I don't really want to get into specifics, but when she ended the partnership, it was very abrupt and very painful. I... I spent a lot of time dealing with that, trying to let it go. I wanted to get over it, and I know she did, too. That's... that's why things are the way they are... and I don't even know how I could begin to-"

"Please," Angela said. She leaned forward and looked him directly in the eyes as she continued speaking. "Please. I... like I said, I'm running out of things to try. Please, help me. If it doesn't matter to you that it's to help Bren, then, please... help *me*. Do it for me. You know I don't like asking for things like this, but for her, I'll do whatever I need to do. She's *got* to start talking again. To someone, anyone. So, please... as a personal favor to me... please, help? Please say you'll help me? Help me to help her?"

A sense of extreme guilt washing over him, Booth inclined his head for a moment. He looked at her and said, "It's that bad?"

Nodding, Angela said, "Yeah, it is."

Looking away, Booth shook his head slowly, and reluctantly, he turned back to Angela. "I can't promise anything, Angela. She... she's probably going to shut down on me even faster than the rest of you."

"But, you'll try?" Angela asked, a spark of hope coming into her voice.

Booth sighed again. "Yeah. If it means that much to you... I can't promise anything, but I'll try."

* * *

><p>The dreams I didn't want to return eventually did find me, as they always do. I dreamed of him one night, about two or three weeks after the funeral. It was the first time I had ever dreamed of someone like that who wasn't Booth. We were in my apartment, sitting on the couch, the stereo was on, and he was singing.<p>

"Let's find the key and turn this engine on, I can feel you breathe, - come on Tempe, it's Eddie Money! - I can feel your heartbeat faster. Take me home tonight!" he sang

"No!" I yelled. I placed my hands to my ears as if to drawn out the sounds. "Oh, no, please, Wendall. Please don't make me listen to this song. I hate this song, I hate it."

Looking down at me, Wendall frowned and then sighed, but nodded. Reaching for the remote, he clicked off the stereo.

"It's a good song, Tempe," Wendall said, with a bit of reproach in his voice.

"Yes, well, you're going to have to forgive me if I don't particularly care to listen to it again considering the fact that the last time I heard it, it provided the soundtrack to me watching you die," I said, a bit of anger, a bit of resentment, and a bit of pain creeping into my voice simultaneously.

He reached over and grabbed my hand. I tried to pull it away, but he stayed firm in his resolve, and didn't let go of my hand. I looked away, and Wendall firmly reached over and forced my face to turn to meet his gaze.

"Hey," he said.

"I don't want to be here right now," I said.

"Yeah, well, I'm sorry about that, but there are some things I need to tell you… things you need to hear," Wendall said.

"And why should I?" I said. "Why should I listen to a single thing you have to say?"

"Because I loved you, still love you, Tempe," he said softly. "I'm here, and I need to tell you, and I love you, so you need to listen to me."

I felt tears begin to fall down my cheeks without even realizing I had started to cry. I sniffled and stabbed his chest hard with my finger. "If you really ever loved me, you *wouldn't* have left me. You left me. You promised me that you wouldn't. And you did. You lied. You lied just like everyone, and you *left* me," I said, and then started to shake furiously with sobs.

Wendall reached for me, as he had often done in the months we were together, and held me. I cried, I cried so hard that I don't know how long I cried. He continued to hold me, warm and there and alive, rubbing reassuring strokes down my back in a comforting gesture. At last, I stopped crying, most likely, because I had no tears left to cry.

And, when he did, he said, "The first thing you need to get through that beautifully thick cranium of yours is that I did love *you*. I still do. I will always love you. Second, I didn't want to leave you, Tempe. I didn't. I didn't want to go. I didn't want to leave you... but, it wasn't my call."

I sighed heavily and shook my head. "Don't you dare try to blame this on some imaginary deity. If there was a God, he wouldn't have done this. He wouldn't have taken you away. He would have let you stay here, stay here with me. He wouldn't have made you leave me. He would have made sure that we had enough time. I wouldn't have run out of time. Again. I just wouldn't. If a deity like God existed, he wouldn't be so cruel to do that to me again. I was so happy with you."

"You were healing-"

"No. I was happy with you. And... I didn't have enough time. If there was a God, I would have had enough time to love you, admit to myself that I loved you, and wasn't just using you. God, how could you love me... and I didn't. I couldn't. But, if I knew what was happening, I would have tried harder. I would have tried to love you."

"You did," Wendall chuckled.

Brennan shook her head in a rapid motion. "No. No... I... I used you, Wendall. I couldn't love you. I wasn't... I'm just not like that. I-"

"Tempe, please, just shut up for a second, huh?" Wendall said. He pointed at her head and said, "You are one of the most brilliant people I've ever met, and on matters of the head, there aren't a lot of people that have got anything on you. But," he stopped and then pointed at her heart, "But, when it comes to that thing there, you're just going to have to trust me. You didn't use me... not really. And, in your own way, you did love me."

"No-" I shook my head. "I don't think I know how to love anyone. I... at some point, everything I was got battered down, and now all that's left is this wishy-washy illogical, irrational, over-emotional weak... thing that I've turned into... and I can't compartmentalize anymore... and, I can't stand being that person. I'm trying to figure out a way to stop being that person, but it doesn't matter in either way because no matter which one I was, neither one could love you, Wendall... and I wanted to, I wanted to so badly. I wanted to love you and tell you, and I tried... but, I didn't have enough time. And, if there was a God... I, *we* would have had enough time."

Wendall ran a finger along my jaw and said, "It doesn't work like that, Tempe." She scowled at this and looked away. Gently, Wendall turned my head as he paused before continuing. "There's one more thing that you need to hear."

Angry, I snapped my head up and said harshly, "What?"

"Don't—" he began. "Don't let all the time we had together… don't let the good you felt when you were with me… don't let it simply disappear. I know you, Tempe, we all do. I know your first instinct is to say 'fuck it' and never let yourself feel anything ever again. You've spent the last year in some type of a free fall since that night in the Eames case. You've let yourself drift from one day to the next, one month to the next, in this emotional undertow. And, I know you're getting close to not even trying to do that anymore. You can't stop living. You can't stop putting yourself out there, living life, seeing what experiences there are for you to have. I know you're in a sad place now, but you've got to stop and make your decision to start living again. You have to promise me you won't just give up. You can't start shutting down, and try to finish walling yourself off again like you start to do after what happened with Agent Booth."

Clenching my lips, I shook my head and said, "I don't know what else to do. Every day it gets a little harder, every day it gets a little worse. I am so tired of feeling. It's exhausting. I'm tired of feeling out of control. I'm sick of not knowing who I am anymore."

"Then get to know the 'new' you... and stop fighting to try and get back to the 'old' you of before. She doesn't exist anymore, Tempe. She's gone. You are who you are now... and that's as it should be," Wendall said. "Di you remember what my favorite quote of Darwin's was?"

I thought for a moment and then nodded. "Angela read it at your funeral. 'A man who dares to waste one hour of time has not discovered the value of life.'"

Wendall nodded. "My life is done. Yours... yours is still there, Tempe. Don't... please don't waste any more of it. You've got to..."

Biting my lip I said, "Even if I wanted to, I don't know how."

"Well," Wendall said simply. "You could start by abandoning this plan of yours to give up on emotions all together. I understand you're still trying to get a grip on how to balance them in your life. It takes practice. But, you won't get better if you give up on them all together. So, you have to start by allowing yourself to feel. Anger, sad, hurt, happiness, desperation, confusion, love – it doesn't really matter. Just *feel*… and keep yourself open."

"But, it's all so... negative," Brennan said. "With very, very few exceptions, the entire year I've spent feeling nothing but... negative things. I... I can't keep that up-"

Wendall interrupted her. "Yes, we can't really argue you've had some pretty nasty stuff to deal with on the emotional front. But, Tempe... was it all bad?"

I stopped again, biting my lower lip once more. Considering his words, I thought back on the first few weeks we had started to date, and I remembered how happy I had been. Slowly, I shook my head. "No. No, they haven't been all bad."

"There you go, then," Wendall said. "See? There's balance in everything. You just have to fight a little harder to remember the good stuff when the bad stuff seems so much greater because of what your perspective is."

"That is very logical," I had to admit. "But, it is also a lot easier to say then to actually do, Wendall." I stopped again, and then said softly, "I tried to keep myself open. With Booth... after him... I tried. I really, really *did* try... and I tried that once with you and look where that got me. I tried to take a chance, give someone a chance, and look what happened to me - I'm broken. Again. And, I can't do it again... I can't put myself back together again just to see all my work smashed to pieces again. I'm exactly where I was before, except now it's even worse because I know what it's like to love someone and have them love me and be with them and have them leave me. It's even worse than I thought it could be before, and I thought it was pretty bad when I skipped over the happy being-together part."

"If you do, then the purpose I was supposed to play in your life will have been in vain. Don't do that to me, to us. Honor my memory," he said simply.

"I did," I protested. "I went to your funeral, and nobody had to make me go, and I cried in front of everyone. I did that... mostly... I did that for you."

Wendall chuckled. "Then do one more thing for me... mostly for me, anyway. Please. Don't shutdown."

"Why?"

"Because you love me."

My eyes snapped open and I frowned. "I never told you that."

"No," he admitted. "But, it doesn't make it any less true. You felt it."

"I don't know what I feel... felt. I don't know anymore," I told him.

"You did," Wendall grinned. "Trust me."

"If it is true, and I'm not saying it is, because I don't know how I can do something without being conscious of the fact that I'm doing it... then, what you're asking me to do... it's not fair. You can't be dead and use guilt to get me to do what you want me to do."

"I think I just did," he said smiling. "Now, will you do it?"

"I don't think I can."

"You're one of the most intelligent individuals I've ever met. I doubt very seriously if you don't think about something for a while that you won't eventually come up with a way to do what you need to do," he said.

At this, I shook my head. "Your belief in my abilities is flattering, but misplaced and misinformed."

"Nope."

"Wendall-"

"Tempe-"

Looking up in frustration, I saw he was smiling. I sighed. "Fine. I-I'll try. That's all I can do. I'll try... try to do what you've asked me to do."

"Good," he chuckled. "Just try then, and you'll be fine." Wendall was quiet for a moment before he leaned in, and this time, he turned my head towards his and before he kissed me he whispered, "God, I love you. I'll always love you. And, even if you don't think so… I've never left you."

* * *

><p>Many, many days after her dream, Brennan was back at the small English pub that she had again taken to frequenting once a week to drink herself into a stupor to combat the loneliness and fear and regrets with which she once again found herself battling. All things considered, she looked - on the outside - mostly healed from the car accident. She was no longer on crutches, and most of the cuts had healed as the bruises had faded. To anyone else, she was just a pretty woman sitting alone in a bar having a drink. To those who knew her, however, she was much more. Brennan was on her fourth or fifth Irish Carbomb when she looked up and shook her head. One of the last people she wanted to see came strolling up and stopped in front of her.<p>

"What are you doing here?" Brennan asked with a hostile edge to her voice.

"Angela called me. She was worried about you," Booth said.

"She shouldn't. She worries too much," Brennan replied. "She shouldn't have called you. I told her the last time she came here four weeks ago, I wanted to be by myself. I told Hodgins three weeks ago when he came that I wanted to be by myself. I told Sully when he came by two weeks ago to go away because I wanted to be by myself. I even had to tell my dad when he came here last week, because Angela guilted him into coming here, that I wanted to be by myself. What part of that notion are people having difficulty conceptualizing? I'm going to be left alone anyway, so it's past time that I started getting used to it. I *want* to be left *alone*."

"Yeah, well, maybe she thinks you've spent enough time alone already. They're worried about you," he said.

"And, you?" Brennan asked with an upturned eyebrow. "Why are you here?"

He shrugged. "I wanted a drink. This place was as good as any."

"Go away," Brennan said, turning back to her drink.

"I would," Booth said, sliding into the stool next to hers. "But, Angela asked me, as a personal favor to her, to come and see if I could get you to start talking. She has this crazy notion that you need to talk about what's happened to you, but won't. Her idea is if you start talking to someone, anyone, apparently that you won't be able to shut up." He considered the notion for a moment, and then nodded. "She's probably right."

"I'm sure it will be different tomorrow when I'm sober, but you know what? Right now, they can take their concern and shove it. I'm fine," she muttered. "And, as for you... you can go to hell."

Booth shrugged at this. "Like I said, I'm just here for a drink."

"Then get one," she retorted. "And leave me alone."

"I will," Booth said, with a reassuring nod. "And, then... I'll go. But, after I've had a drink."

Staring at him, Brennan shrugged in frustrated resignation. He signaled to the bartender, who returned a few moments later with a pint of beer. Brennan scowled at him as he said nothing, just sat there, and quietly drank his beer.

Her face pinched in annoyance, Brennan couldn't stand the silence anymore and said, "I *am* fine, you know. Not that *you* would know since I haven't even seen or talked to you in months. And, more over, after everything that's happened between us - or didn't happen, as may be the case - why in the hell would Angela send *you* here to talk to *me*? What, is she running out of people to send here? I mean, who's left? Cam? Sweets? Andrew? How about some random people off of the street?"

Booth was silent for a moment before he finally spoke. "Like I said, she's always worried about you. Maybe she thought I might be the one person that you might be pissed off enough at to let stick around even if it was just to yell at me."

"Yeah, well," Brennan said as she reached for her drink. "Like I said, I'm sure I'll feel different in the morning when I'm hungover, but right now, even though she means well and I'm grateful, her reasoning is irrational and illogical and seriously makes me question Angela's intelligence level."

"She cares about you, Bones. You've really been scaring her since Wendall-"

"Just, don't..." Brennan snapped. "I really, I don't want to... I don't want to talk about that. I'm over it. I'm over it. I'm done."

Booth nodded. "So... what happens next?"

Brennan considered his words for a moment before she said, "What happens next is- You know I like evidence, Booth, well here's the evidence. The evidence is that there is something wrong here. First... first there was Michael. I was twenty-two when I had sex for the first time, and it was with my professor. And, you know what... when that job for him came up at Harvard, even though I had another semester left to go... what did he do? He left me. Then, after a few more random sexual partners, then... then, I fell in love with a man who didn't want to be me with me when I realized I was ready to be with him-"

"Me," he said quietly.

Brennan's head tilted towards him as she then spoke, "And, then the next one, the next man, well, he's dead. He died. He's dead, and that's it... and, what is it with men who just can't seem to want to stay around long enough to be with me? What is it with them... with me? Why do they keep leaving?"

"Bones-" Booth said, a look of pity coming into his eyes.

Brennan quickly shook her head and said, "No, you know what... no... just drink. Just drink." She pushed one of the shots that waited to be dropped into the Irish Carbomb towards him. "You want to stay? Fine. Two rules. One, don't say his name. And, two, we drink. Otherwise, you can turn around and just walk back out the same way you came in..."

"Those are my only two choices?"

Brennan grabbed the pint of Guinness, and nodded. "Yeah."

"Okay," he said, moving to reach for the shot glass. "Then I'll have a drink."

And, so, he did.

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	11. Ch 10: Ten Months After

He Shouldn't Have Done That

By: Lesera128

Rated: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Brennan ends her partnership with Booth after she considers his confession to Hannah about her the ultimate betrayal. AU.

* * *

><p>Chapter 10 – Ten Months After<p>

* * *

><p>I love Angela, I do... and I know, for her, they acted. They came. Hodgins, Sully, my dad. They liked her, they respected her enough to act on her behalf for me. And, I know she means well. I'm still not sure why she cares about me as much as she does. She's always been a better friend to me than I've ever been to her. But, Angela... she's loyal like that. So, I know she's trying because she loves me for some illogical and inexplicable reason.<p>

And, because she's worried, they're worried. For some reason they seem to think I'm worth worrying about... and they mean well. But, they didn't really understand. I *didn't* want to talk about it. What part of that is so difficult to understand, comprehend? I didn't want to talk about Wendall, the accident, our relationship, how I was feeling, or how I was doing. I was coping. They should have been able to see that if nothing else.

I was still getting up each morning, I came to work, I attempted to be as professional and amiable as I possibly could be under the circumstances. I was trying to do what I thought Wendall had asked me to do. I was trying to live. I worked hard to maintain some semblance of a normal schedule. I knew as soon as I bolted to the sets of remains in limbo that Angela would immediately call some type of counsel to stage an intervention. I really, really just wanted to be left alone. I knew that wouldn't happen, so I settled for the next best thing - I didn't want to talk about. I was doing the best I could... and, it still didn't seem to be good enough for anyone... anyone but the one person who had the least amount of reasons to stay, but did - anyone but the last person I expected to understand, but did. Booth. Ironic isn't it?

I don't know at what point I regained the ability to refer to him in all places and contexts by his name, but there it was. Booth. And, as time went on, he was the one person I was able to use to pacify Angela with in an attempt to alleviate some of the distress my current emotional state had caused her. After all, that's what I did, wasn't it? I was a user. That's the reason, I had ultimately decided, that explained why they kept leaving. I was a user. I took, I kept taking... and I rarely gave anything substantial back in return. That was it. That was the reason. So, I deserved it, in a way... I deserved it... and that's why it kept happening.

With Michael, I was there. He saw something he could use in me, and I used him when I was at Northwestern. The parade of random men over the years fulfilled their purposes as far as biological imperatives were concerned. Then... well, then there was Booth. I used him, too. I thought, for a time, that it might be something more. But, really... what else did I do but merely use him as a partner and as a teacher to learn what I could of emotions? Then... like always, I didn't seek him out, but Wendall found me. And, I used him, too. I used him to distract myself from things that had happened with Booth... and to pass the time. I used him as a diversion, despite what he had told me in the dream. So, I was a user... I took... and now... what did it matter if Booth was there? He was there, he wanted a drink, it was a bar. Angela didn't want me to be alone. With him there, I wasn't. So, what did it matter if he stayed?

I didn't really have to think about that one before I made the decision... whether to let him stay or not. Or, rather, to leave myself if he insisted on staying. But, overall, staying there while he stayed there did have its benefits. One, as I said, it made Angela seem just a little bit more anxious. And, two, again, it distracted me. It might be odd to think that after all that had happened as far as my emotions with Booth were concerned that he could distract me in anyway, particularly when my reaction to him earlier this year had been so vitriolic. But, logically, when faced with two sources of pain, the one that's more recent, more fresh in your memory can overwhelm you. Time and space make you have to chose which one you are going to do battle with... so, I had a choice. I could either chose to renew my anger at Booth - which, to be honest, I hadn't really felt in some time, anyway - or to continue fighting against my anger against everything that had happened with Wendall. He left me. Booth was here. I still didn't know why, but he was. And, the reasons why I had felt so much strong emotion towards him... they had faded. So, if I could only chose one to rail against - it had to be the pain I felt because of Wendall. So, if he wanted to... Booth could stay, and I did too. And, so he did... and so did I.

Each Thursday at 7pm promptly, I went to the English pub. Each Thursday, I preceded to imbibe my normal pattern of a couple pints of Guinness, a couple of Black-and-Blue pints, and finished the evening with several Irish Carbombs. Each night, usually by about 12:30am, I would be completely intoxicated. I would look to Charlie to close out my tab and call me a cab. Booth would then follow me out, get in the cab with me, ride with me to my apartment, and watch as I collapsed into bed. At some point in the pattern, a number of towels, bottles of water, a bottle of aspirin, and a plastic bucket appeared at my bedside (and were mysteriously restocked each week). Sometimes I was sick, sometimes I wasn't. And, when I awoke the next morning, I finally had what I wanted – I was alone. A small part of me was curious to know why he was doing what he was doing. After all, who was I to him anymore? No one. I was no one. His actions were akin to helping a stranger, I reasoned. But, still he did it, and each week, at some point, each night, he left, and by the time the sun rose in all its bright and fiery glory, for just a few hours before the pain of the hangover dominated the rest of my Friday, I *finally* was alone. I spent the rest of the weekend recuperating in order to be ready to greet the new week on Monday. And, on the following Monday of each week, the pattern started all over again.

After approximately one month, or, on my fifth Thursday evening, I started to feel something that I hadn't felt in quite a long time – confusion. The pattern I had been holding to throughout the week helped me get from one point in time to the next. Each Thursday, I knew I had someplace to be, something to do. It marked the passage of time for me, helped me to have one more point to reach, gave me something that I conceptualized as a way to do what I had to do to make it to the next Thursday. But, after about a month, I started to realize how much energy it was taking to keep up that schedule and the mindset that such a schedule demanded. I started to get bored with the monotony of having to go over the same exact thoughts, same exact feelings, and same exact fact patterns in my head. It was boring and monotonous. And, for the first time in a long time, I started to think that maybe I needed to make some changes in the stagnant pattern that my life had fallen into over the past few weeks.

In the larger scale, I had gotten tired of doing the same thing over and over again. I was tired of the monotony of my life. And, in a way, I was tired of the monotony of the emotions I kept feeling. From a certain perspective, I had reverted to the exact same emotional cluster-fuck that I had found myself in last November. Between November and January, I had wallowed in a pool of loneliness, desperation, grief, self-pity, anger, and regret. Now, here I was again, and exactly where I had been not even a year ago. It was the end of September, and I felt a need to fight for change. Somehow, though I didn't expect it, I thought all the fight had gone out of me that day at the cemetery, I felt the overwhelming urge to rebel against the current state of things. I couldn't stand the idea of being constrained, confined, controlled. I had to rebel against it. I needed to change things, somehow. I just wasn't sure where to start, but for opening my mouth, and, at last... to begin talking.

In a way, that was why I started talking. It began with a small gesture that was simple enough. I motioned to Charlie, who, upon seeing my arrival, had moved to pour a pint of Guinness for me to begin tonight's ritual. I shook my head at him as I took my seat and quietly ordered a bottle of tequila and a shot glass. Charlie brought them without question, poured the first shot in front of me, and then left the bottle next to the shot. I downed the first one quickly, welcoming the variation of the burning down my throat. It had been almost a year, no... more than a year since I had let a drop of tequila pass through my lips. I shook my head in satisfaction, as I reached for a slice of lime from a bowl that Charlie had unobtrusively left for me next to a saltshaker and sucked it dry. Nodding, I reached for the second shot and quickly swallowed it.

By 7:30pm, like clockwork, he entered the bar and sat down next to me. Glancing at the tequila bottle and the shot glass, Booth gave me a strange look, but said nothing. Instead, his look said it all - 'what's this?' It was a fair question. And, so, for the first time in weeks, since the first night that he had found me, I opened my mouth and spoke.

* * *

><p>Brennan stared at him, before she nodded and said, "For five weeks, I've put up with the fact that you've only kept half of the ground rules I set."<p>

"I haven't mentioned his name once," Booth replied.

"No," I said. "You haven't. That was the half of the rules that you've been following."

"And, so the problem here is?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Reaching for the tequila bottle, I poured a new shot in the glass and slid it across the counter. I nodded and said, "You were supposed to have a drink."

Booth stared at it for a moment, then back at her, saying nothing. They communicated with their eyes:

_Why are you still here?_

_Why do you keep coming here?_

_I'm hurt. I'm in pain. I don't know what else to do to stop feeling the pain._

_You're scaring the people who love you._

_That explains Angela and my dad and the rest. It doesn't explain why you're here._

_Like I said, curiosity._

_No, you're hiding something._

_Okay, then how about for old time's sake? I don't like seeing you like this. I don't like seeing you self-destructing when you came so damn close to finishing off the job last time._

_So, guilt?_

_Maybe._

_What do you have to be guilty about?_

_A lot.  
><em>

"Either drink the drink, or go," Brennan said simply. "That was the deal."

He stared at her hard for a moment, looked back at the shot glass, then grabbed it and downed its contents in one hard and fast movement.

Brennan nodded her approval. "I don't know why you just did that, but, fine. You can stay. I still don't know *why* you want to stay, but, if you want to, I guess, you can stay."

Reaching for the bottle, she refilled a shot glass that had materialized in front of her... and Booth's.

"You only said I had to have 'a' drink… as in singular," Booth said with an arched eyebrow.

Turning to him, she nodded. "Only the first one was mandatory. Any others are optional."

And, so, for several hours that night, they didn't talk. Not verbally. But, she did look at him. This time, for the first time in months, she really *did* look at him… and, in her alcohol-clouded, drunken-induced haze, for the first time in a long, long time… she stopped thinking about herself and looked at him.

Booth had changed in the time since she had cut him out of her life. Not anything dramatic… but, when a person spends six years staring at a person on a regular basis, one does get to know the face quite well. There were more lines, tiny ones, at the edge of his eyes than she remembered being there. And, the two lines in his forehead that creased whenever he frowned or was puzzled or worried about something… those two lines seemed deeper, more prominent than she had remembered them being. If she wasn't mistaken, she also thought that for the first time ever, she could see the flash of silver just above his ear. Not anything overt or numerous, but yes, if she looked hard enough Brennan thought she might have seen one or two grey hairs.

While Brennan sat staring at Booth in-between downing her shots of tequila, Booth stared at her. What he saw pleased him in no way anymore than it had each of the past Thursday nights that he had been coming to sit next to her in the bar for the past month. The woman who sat before him seemed a far cry from the individual who had come blazing into his office the afternoon she dissolved their partnership. That strong, angry woman had been lost at some point. At some point over the past year, that woman had been lost along the way, as Brennan went down the path she had been traveling without him. In her place sat a very different person. This Brennan who sat in front of him, yes, she was still angry… angry at some many things for so many different reasons… and the anger had started to eat her alive. This woman… this Brennan – she was paler, more dull than the one he remembered. It was obvious that she had lost weight. Not a tremendous amount, but just enough so that he could see a difference. She was harder... different in some many small ways. But, perhaps the most drastic change was the lack of vitality he saw in this woman who sat before him. She seemed more fragile… almost to the point of being brittle. Older, she definitely was older than had ever recalled her seeming to him… much older than her actual thirty-five years.

And, all of that being said, he didn't know what to do to help her… wasn't even certain why he was still here after Angela had pleaded with him to go to her, just once. After dealing with his own problems for months... he had initially gone to see her... for two reasons... one, he wanted the distraction, and two, he was curious. So, here he was sitting next to his ex-partner, his ex-best friend… and the only thing Booth did eventually realize that first night was that he was watching Brennan go through the earliest stages of what could only be legitimately described as self-destruction. It gnawed at him, as he began to wonder how this had happened in such a short period of time. Brennan was about to crash and burn in a spectacular ball of fire... and... and, it was perhaps that thought that depressed him the most – the sheer waste of it, what she was doing… the waste of it all. Brennan had remarkable potential, and yet here she was, throwing it all away, throwing her *life* away with both hands… and, on pure principle, that thought made Booth sad. It depressed him… and if nothing else had happened over the past year to occupy his thoughts, that would have been enough to merit having another drink. But, then there was also the other feeling that had started to eat at him... guilt. Had he helped contribute to this? If so... how? Yes, perhaps it had started that day with Hannah... but... had he made it worse that night? Had they both made it worse? For a while after, they both had seemed to be doing better... but, now... he started to feel guilty... and so started to come and sit with her each night as some sort of self-imposed penance.

So, all these thoughts rattling in his mind, Booth slowly reached for the shot glass she had left in front of him, fingering the rim for a minute. Pulling it toward him with one hand, he reached for the salt shaker with his other hand. Decision made, Booth quickly downed the shot and reached for a piece of lime afterwards. Brennan watched him curiously, saying nothing, and merely nodded her silent approval.

* * *

><p>A couple of hours after that, mellowed by the tequila, Brennan finally said what she really had been wanting to say all night. Or, not say, necessarily. But, ask. Yes, she had a question to ask, and her inhibitions lowered by the Tequila, she was going to ask it. So, she did.<p>

"Why do you keep coming here? Every Thursday night. Like clockwork... 7:30pm rolls around, and there you are. You haven't even been late... not once. Surely, you've got to have better things to do with your time than babysitting your drunken ex-partner. So, I'll ask again. Why do you keep doing this?" Brennan inquired.

Booth, also mellowed by the tequila, shrugged. "The beer and liquor are cheap."

"Tonight's the first night you've had a drink in over a month here. Try again," Brennan said.

He nodded. "Okay. Then, it's like I told you originally - morbid curiosity."

Shaking her head, Brennan said, "No, I don't think so. Not good enough. Maybe for the first Thursday. It doesn't explain the other four. So, try again."

"Okay, you seem to have an idea of why I'm here, so why don't you tell me," Booth asked.

Brennan looked and said, "I think that you're doing it because you feel guilty about something."

"Guilty?" Booth said, slightly surprised. at her response. No, he was more than *slightly* surprised. How did she know that? How could she know him that well when she was so mired in such an overwhelming puddle of self-involved self-destruction. Booth thought about it for a second and then decided... no, she couldn't know... it was a guess. Had to be. Nodding, he played it off as he asked, "What do I have to feel guilty about?"

There were a thousand things that Brennan could have offered at the opening that Booth had given her to explain what he might have had to feel guilt over. A thousand things came to Brennan's mind... from when he broke her trust by telling Hannah about their conversation to... a lot of other things. But, in the end, she shook her head.

"I don't know. But, I do think you feel guilty about something... and you're doing this... as some type of penance," Brennan said.

Booth again hid his surprise. *How* could she know that? He was quiet for a moment before he said, "And if I did? What does that matter?"

"Because," Brennan said. "I'm not your responsibility. I'm not your charity case. You don't even know me anymore."

"You're right," Booth conceded. "And you don't know me."

"No," she agreed after a moment. "You're right. I don't. It's like we're even less familiar with each other than the day you walked into my lecture hall that day at American."

"Time passes, things happen, people change," Booth observed. "Life keeps going on."

"Yes," Brennan said after a moment. "It's painful, but it does."

He stared at her for a moment, and then said, "It's surprising you would admit that."

"Why?" Brennan asked. "It's a logical observation I've made on based on... too *many* first-hand experiences."

"I sort of got the impression," Booth said, "That you might've given up on that whole 'gaining first-hand experiences' thing from the past few weeks."

Quiet for a moment, Brennan shook her head. "I can't. Logically, I can't do that. I may have tried to do it for a while as I looked to adjust my metaphorical grasp on things that have occurred in my life. But, I can't give up. Life happens, as you said, and unless I were to commit suicide, which is something that in no way is appealing to me or desirous in any way, then I must accept that fact... and 'deal' as Angela says. My life... it is still important. The things I do... my work... my writing... they still have value. So, I... I have come to the conclusion I must keep going forward... and 'deal'."

Booth was surprised by her admission... and, upon closer examination, Brennan seemed to be as well. As long as she wasn't directly confronted with things emotional... she almost seemed to display a flicker of the Brennan of old. It was disconcerting to Booth to say the least.

"So that's why you're still here?" he asked. "It's how you're coping with 'dealing' for the times when you're not?"

Sighing, Brennan said. "I... before tonight, I might have answered 'yes' to that question... now... I don't know why I'm here. It's... it's better than being back at my apartment... alone... with nothing but sad memories and sad dreams."

Nodding, Booth began to absentmindedly caress the rim of his shot glass again. Nodding, Brennan said, "So that's why I'm still here. What about you? Why are you still here?"

Booth nodded. "I just... am."

Sighing at this, Brennan said, "I don't know what to say in response to that."

"It doesn't matter, really, what you say, as long as you keep talking," Booth said finally. "Talking... it's a good thing, you know. Angela was right about that one. As long as you keep talking... it's just a good thing." Booth watched her consider the words for a moment and then said, "What?"

"It's just that I find myself debating as to whether I should accept the validity of your opinion on this matter since it is not based, in any way in which I can perceive, on any sets of facts. Since your prior statement is something that you have said that is subjective, and not of an objective nature, I find that I'm uncertain whether I should agree with your opinion or not."

At this, Booth shrugged. "You don't have to," he agreed. "Like I said, it's just an observation. You can take it for what you will," Booth's voice trailed off.

At last, Brennan completed the thought for him and simultaneously returned to her earlier assessment. "It's true that you've made some valid points in the past based on your subjective interpretation of things. Ergo, your previous pattern indicates that... usually... The evidence, that is, suggests that while some of your opinions had validity... even if some others didn't, overall you usually had the right of things in emotionally-related matters such as this."

Quiet for a moment, Booth said at last, "I'm not certain, but I think... did you just agree with me?"

"Not quite," Brennan admitted. "I did concede the point, however, that statistically, in emotional matters, your opinion seems to have some weight... and, as such, should be treated... at times, with agreement, even in subjective matters."

"Uhhh, thanks, I think," Booth said at last. He waited a few seconds before he said, "So, I have a question for you now."

"Yes?" Brennan responded.

"You said 'some' of my opinions had validity. Were you referencing any ones in particular?" Booth asked.

Brennan considered the question before she shrugged her shoulders. "Not any specific ones I care to speak of at the present moment aside from saying that some of your thoughts on human emotions were... valid."

"All right," Booth conceded. He took the shot glass, and considered it for a moment before setting it down and looking at her. He nodded. "Look, here's how I see this. You want to know why I'm here... let's just say I have my reasons, just like I'm sure you do. And, for now.. those reasons are each to his own. You don't know me anymore. I don't know you anymore. Time's passed, things have happened, and we've both changed. But... if you want... I've grown used to having drinks on Thursday nights," Booth said.

"I don't trust you," Brennan stated simply.

"And, I don't trust you," Booth said. "But, all we're doing here is getting a drink... and talking. Just talking. We don't have to trust each other to have a drink."

"That's it?" Brennan asked.

Booth was quiet for a moment before he said, "For now, yeah. We drink, we talk. That's it."

"Just talking... will lead to an increased familiarity. Talking is how you get to know someone," Brennan said. "To what purpose?"

Booth shrugged. "To pass the time?"

Brennan wasn't sure how to respond to that... as she considered her thoughts for a moment, and then nodded. "Okay." She stopped and then added, "We drink, we talk... and we pass the time." It wasn't like she had many better things to do... and, ironically, if there was one thing she seemed to have more than enough of now... it was time. So, she agreed... and so did Booth as he repeated her words.

"So... we drink, we talk, and, we'll pass the time."

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	12. Ch 11: Eleven Months After

He Shouldn't Have Done That

By: Lesera128

Rated: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Brennan ends her partnership with Booth after she considers his confession to Hannah about her the ultimate betrayal. AU.

* * *

><p>Chapter 11 – Eleven Months After<p>

* * *

><p>The next Thursday evening, promptly at 7:30pm, Booth walked in, and sat down on the bar stool that stood next to mine. This time, however, I wasn't drinking anything alcoholic. A glass of club soda with a twist of lime sat in front of me. Booth ordered a Coke. We sat in silence for a moment. But, then he asked me a question, and I responded, and then continued to talk. We sat, we drank, we talked, and we passed the time. And, for once, during those talks... at least for a few hours, I didn't think of what had happened. I didn't think of the accident... I didn't think of the funeral... I didn't think of *him*... I didn't think of... Wendall. And, it was okay. So, we drank, we talked, and we passed the time.<p>

* * *

><p>During the first week, they talked about small things. By tacit agreement, they kept the conversation away from weightier issues. He didn't bring up Hannah. She didn't bring up Wendall. And, neither one of them brought up their former… situation.<p>

It was early October, and the weather had started to change. They chatted, casually, that first night, about things of which people who don't know each other would usually speak.

"I miss being in Philly this time of year," he said randomly. "On a cold day like today, it's not so cold that it's unpleasant, but, ya know – crisp? A day like today makes a good Philly Cheese Steak taste even better."

"Do you like it with provolone or Cheese Whiz better?" Brennan asked curiously.

His eyebrow arched in surprise. However, Booth replied, "Provolone, definitely." He lowered his voice and said, "'Course, you got to be careful about where you make a preference like that known. You say Provolone when you're supposed to say Cheese Whiz in the wrong part of Philly, or vice versa, and you're liable to get your ass kicked."

"I was unaware it was such a symbolic choice," Brennan admitted.

Booth nodded. "In Philly, everything about a cheese steak can be riddled with meaning. We of the city of Brotherly Love take our sandwiches very, very seriously."

Brennan smiled. "It's very odd, but very… reassuring in a way. The Kali tribe of Marunda—"

And, so Brennan launched into a small anthropological jag that Booth tolerated with a smile. He was rewarded when Brennan then regaled him with a story that she had never, ever, in the six plus years of knowing her spoken of before, i.e., of how she had learned about the Kali tribe when she had spent a summer working at a site in South Africa when she was a first-year grad student and ended up getting drunk for the very first time in her life ….

* * *

><p>Each night when Brennan went home, she wasn't drunk. Tired, yes. Usually, their talks at the pub coincided with long days where Brennan found herself striving to work a little harder. She began putting in just a bit more effort into completing case work with Sully and museum work for Cam. So, at the end of a day that she had usually begun at 6 am, and didn't end until an hour after she returned to the apartment at about 1am, she was very, very tired. And, each week, a small part of Brennan feared that - despite the fact that she was no longer drinking, and thus not necessarily leaving her mind susceptible to the domination of her subconscious - that she would start dreaming again.<p>

If there was one thing that Brennan didn't want to do, it was to face Wendall again in her dreams. As the time passed, Brennan became more and more relieved when she actually didn't dream of Wendall again after the first time it had happened in the aftermath of his death. However, eventually, when Brennan did start dreaming again, she did have another reason for concern. The dreams were... scattered. They had no coherent pattern to them, and they were surprisingly erotic in their nature. It had been so long since she had had any dream that could honestly, in any way from her point of view, be described as having been sexual. However, there could not be any misunderstanding about these dreams. On occasion, but only after she had stopped drinking on her Thursday night visits to the pub, a new set of dreams had started. And, yes, they were erotic in nature, but they were also... confusingly exhilarating to her, despite their incoherence.

The first time Brennan had one, she hadn't been asleep more than a couple of hours. She jerked herself awake as the dream had just been starting to get interesting. Unlike many of her dreams, this one was hard to recall. Brennan knew it had been her in the dream, and she knew she had been with a man, and, although, she couldn't make out a single discerning characteristic about her partner, she knew that whatever they had been doing in the dream had been sexual. It had been her, on top of a male, in a sexual position. It had been dark, and somewhat cold... and, then... that was it as Brennan found herself wide awake, her dream lover having vanished with the arrival of her waking state.

It took Brennan several moments to slow her breathing to calm down enough so that she could have a chance at sleeping again. Shaking the dream off as a fluke, when Brennan fell asleep again, it didn't resume. As a matter a fact, over the next several days, she didn't really dream at all. Looking back, the randomness of her dream slightly rattled her, but Brennan also found herself fascinated by the experience nonetheless.

* * *

><p>During the second week, it was Brennan who broke the ice first by mentioning the upcoming holidays.<p>

"I was supposed to be participating in a three-week dig on St. Thomas over Christmas Break," Brennan volunteered. "I found out today that I'm going to have to cancel my participation in it."

"Why?" Booth asked curiously. "Last minute change of plans?"

"Of a sort," Brennan nodded. "Dr. Wiley of MIT will be chairing a panel at the annual meeting of the Society for Forensic Anthropology and Criminal Behavior in January. He almost never does it because he retired three years ago, but the conference organizers seem to have decided to dedicate the conference to him, and so he couldn't say no. Unfortunately, Dr. Zathers, who was supposed to give the key note address since the meeting is in Baltimore where he lives, had to cancel. So, I got a phone call today from one of the members of the host committee, and I was asked if I would be willing to take over Dr. Zathers place on the program."

"If the conference is in January, why do you have to cancel the plans for St. Thomas?"

"I'm going to need time to write the speech, Booth," Brennan said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"But, it's October," he pointed out.

"Yes," she said. "And?"

"And, January is like… three months away," Booth said.

Brennan shook her head. "You don't understand. This is Dr. Edgar Wiley. He is one of the foremost authorities on adapting criminological theories to the practice of anthropology. Three months is *barely* enough time to put this thing together. I almost said no, but—"

"But?" Booth asked, intrigued as Brennan seemed… almost flustered about the entire topic.

"But, it *is* for Dr. Wiley. I kind of don't have much of a choice," Brennan said with a sigh.

Booth lifted his Coke to his mouth, and then said, "Sounds like a scary guy if he's got you on edge."

Brennan shook her head. "You have *no* idea."

* * *

><p>Again, Brennan was tired when she went home that night after explaining the significance of Dr. Wiley on her life and on her career. And, again, when she crawled into bed, all she wanted to do was sleep. However, her subconscious apparently had other plans for her once more. This time, exactly a week after Brennan had experienced the first dream, this time, she awoke at close to 4am after having been asleep for almost three hours. Again, she awoke herself just as things had been getting interesting. Like the first time, her second dream began in a very similar manner... it was almost identical, in fact. Brennan was there, and she knew it was her in the dream. She was there, and with a man, and she was on top of him. It was dark. and the room they were in was cold. But, unlike the previous week, this time she hadn't woken herself up before she discerned a few more details.<p>

Yes, she was on top of a man, they were obviously of the same mind to be participating in their desire to engage in some type of consensual sexual act. Her bearings thus established, Brennan then finally realized that they weren't in a bed. They were horizontal, because she knew she was on top, and there was softness around her. But, they weren't on a bed. Yes, she wasn't sure *what* surface they were actually on... but, it was soft... and she could feel the softness of the source as her knees dipped down as she leaned forward and moved her hands down to roam over her dream lover's body. Yes, her hands moved... against... cloth. Rough cloth... the roughness of cotton, maybe? And, then her hands continued moving and the roughness of the cotton gave way to the soft stiffness of another material. Jeans? Was the man wearing jeans? Yes, she could tell as her hands tugged at the buttons and grazed the waistband of the jeans. The man was wearing jeans, and Brennan ruthlessly worked to unclasp them, push the zipper down, lift his ass to push the jeans off his hips and down his legs. Then, her hand was going to the boxers... and she had just made contact with warm flesh - the room was cold, but his skin was warm, so warm - when she felt him tense as she touched him. Nevertheless, she continued and, just as she was about to pull the waistband of the boxers down and reach the object of her explorations... Brennan found herself staring at the ceiling of her bedroom, eyes having snapped wide open.

Her heart was pounding, and she felt in her body the beginning stirrings of her own arousal. Swallowing, Brennan realized how thirsty she was. At some point, she had started to sweat, and so, shaking away the grogginess of the dream, Brennan pushed back the covers and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. As she calmly drank the cold water, Brennan tried to not think of the lingering images the dream had left for her conscious mind to process in the hopes that she would be able to get back to sleep as easily this time as she had on the last occasion. However, Brennan wasn't quite sure if she would be that lucky or not... but she would at least try.

* * *

><p>During the third week, Booth entered the bar a little more subdued than normal… and Brennan already had a good idea why his behavior was altered before he had even wandered into the bar. In fact, Brennan had spoken with her partner not two hours before and their conversation had left her seriously doubting whether Booth would even show up or not tonight given the afternoon's events. She found herself pleasantly surprised when he did arrive, walking through the doors at 7:30pm exactly and taking his usual seat next to her.<p>

When Booth had sat down, she nodded and said, "I take it you talked to Sully?"

He nodded.

"Maybe you should go with something stronger than a Coke," Brennan said. "How about a beer?"

Booth shook his head. "No. I'm fine."

"Booth—".

"I know you mean well, but right now, the last thing I want is a beer, okay?"

Brennan nodded

He looked away for a couple of minutes, and the pair simply sat in silence before he opened his mouth and started to talk.

"I know," Booth began, staring at her with a strange look in his eyes. "I know I've never spoken a lot about my old man."

"No, you really haven't," Brennan said.

"It's just not... I've never really talked about him. Not to you, not to anyone. Hell, if I couldn't talk to you about him, then I know I definitely couldn't talk to anyone else... but... well, today-"

Nodding, Brennan quietly urged him to continue as she prompted, "Today?"

"He… he's a piece of work," Booth said, his eyes looking off as he recalled something that seemed to make him happy, and then, almost a split second later, a more sobering memory took the earlier one's place and seemed to make him sad.

"When he left," Booth said. "I… I didn't ask questions. I tried to talk to Pops, but he had this depressed look on his face whenever I brought it up, and I just… I didn't want to make him sad. So, I stopped asking about my father, my mother..."

"And Jared?" Brennan asked. "Did he make it difficult? Keep asking about them?"

Booth waved his hand as a beginning to answering Brennan's question. "Naaaw. Jared was too young to understand what was going on... and, I think Pops and I both agreed it was better that way for him and easier that way for us. He wasn't even quite four when they left."

"But, you were older," Brennan observed.

Booth nodded as he looked back at her. He then stopped for another moment before he added, "I remember the morning after the day my father left. I have this image of my mother. She was dressed in her best suit. She only wore it for special occasions… Thanksgiving dinner or service on Christmas Eve or mass on Easter Sunday. She had this single strand of pearls… seed pearls, I think. And, I remember she was clutching this small traveling bag. I... I know that on the day after he left, she came into my bedroom the next morning and woke me up. It was early…so early, I know that the sun had barely begun to shine. It must have been dawn, I think. And, I remember her sitting on the edge of my bed, and she woke me up…."

He paused, his throat tightening. Booth bit his lip and then looked away. "She woke me up by calling my name. 'Seeley, come here. Come here, Seeley.' I hated it the way she said it. God, I hated it. Clipped, terse… and then I woke up, and she was saying it again and again. And, I crawled out from the warmth of my blankets, and she pulled me to her and said, 'Mommy has to go, but you have to promise me that you'll be a good boy, Seeley. Promise Mommy that you'll be a good boy… and take care of your little brother. You're responsible for Jared, Seeley. Do you understand? Big brothers take care of little brothers. Do you understand, Seeley?' She kept saying my name. But, I didn't understand what she was really saying. I was groggy… half-asleep… hadn't even turned eight yet. And, there she was… and I just remember how much it annoyed me to hear her say my name like that. Then, I nodded my agreement with whatever demands she was making of me. That's what I usually did to get her to let me go about my business. And, then she smiled this huge smile at me and gave me a kiss goodbye. I never liked my name before that day, but after that... I hated it. I just hated it. And, my mother, when she left, she was wearing this perfume… it smelled like flowers… lilies I think. I've always remembered how much I hated that smell when she pressed me to her. My head was in the crook of her neck, and I smelled it. It was this cloying, sickly sweet smell. Horrible. It was just... horrible. And, every so often, when I walk through a department store, and if I smell something similar to it even today, I start to gag. It makes me want to vomit. But, anyway, she gave me a kiss and a final smile, stood up, watched me crawl back under the covers, walked to my bedroom door, turned back for one last gaze, waved, and walked out the door, closing it behind her. And, after that, I never saw her again."

"She left," Brennan said softly.

Booth nodded. "Yeah, she left. She… God, Bones… she must have been pregnant then. And, she left… and went to be with that son of a bitch. She chose him over us… and look what happened."

"Your sister was murdered," Brennan said.

Booth nodded again. "Yeah. And, if that isn't enough, now Sully tells me that Hodgins thinks that wherever she was buried, the insect activity indicates she was buried with another set of remains." He stopped, and looked away, "My little sister… was murdered, buried for almost thirty years, dug up, and dumped in the Potomac. If that weren't enough, now Hodgins and Sully think she was originally buried with another set of human remains – and, if it wasn't my mother, Bones… who else could it have been? And, more importantly, who else could have done it but my father?"

Brennan reached out a hand this time, lightly resting it on his, and said, "I don't know, Booth."

"Yeah, well, that makes you and the rest of the Squint-Squad unanimous on that one then," Booth said. "Pretty much everyone's in unanimous agreement with the theory that the only person who could have murdered my mother and sister was my father."

* * *

><p>On the third Thursday, although she would never actually admit it to herself, by the third Thursday, Brennan was more than half-expecting another dream. Her curiosity was piqued. Specifically, she wanted to know how far the dream would actually go. And, she wanted to see if some part of her mind would keep waking her up... or if the dream would proceed further than it had on each of the two prior occasions she had experienced it.<p>

A small part of Brennan was quite excited by the time she got into bed, and it took her a lot longer than normal to actually relax enough to be able to be in a frame of mind that would actually *allow* herself to fall asleep. But, when she did... like clockwork, the dream came again.

It was dark, the room was cold, she was with a man, they were in a sexual position... and Brennan was on top. However, this time... this time... when she reached the waistband of the boxer shorts, she didn't wake up before her hands pulled them down. Again, both she and her partner shifted to allow her enough room to push the offending garment away. Her hands moved with a frightening sense of purpose, and her mouth began to follow in the wake of the motions of her hands. And, as the dream went from erotic to explicit, Brennan felt a surge of emotion that was also a new and added aspect to the experience. She felt... aggressive... very aggressive... almost feral in the emotion that drove her forward in her actions that focused on her partner. Yes, she felt... raw, feral, and sexual.

The dream continued, morphing into what Brennan felt could be more accurately described as a collection of sensations and feelings, as opposed to a truly linear narrative. Throughout it all, one thing that Brennan found frustrating was that, despite her best efforts to see his face, her partner still remained hidden. Whenever she looked at his face, searched for his eyes, all she found was what Brennan could best describe as a nebulous image that remained hidden from her view. There were also other aspects of her dream lover's personality that irked Brennan. For example, in many ways, he remained much more passive than most of the actual lovers that Brennan had had in real life... and that point gave Brennan something to consider. She wasn't sure if she liked the change or not. But, when one explicit sex act had reached a culmination, and Brennan began to wonder if she would wake up... suddenly her passive partner became active... grabbing her, flipping them over so that she was now under him, and just as Brennan felt the warmth of *his* hands grab for *her* jeans... again, her eyes flew open, and she found herself staring at the ceiling of her bedroom one more time.

* * *

><p>During the fourth week, Booth actually beat Brennan to the pub. She was shrugging out of her jacket in the entry way, dusting off the first flakes of an early snow that unusually was threatening to batter DC.<p>

"Sorry," she said sheepishly, as she made her way to the bar. It was crowded more than usual, and Booth was having to guard her stool vigilantly.

He nodded. "Is it getting worse outside?"

Brennan nodded. "It's not cold enough for the snow to accumulate on the ground this early in the season, obviously, but, yes, it's getting quite bleak outside."

Charlie had already brought Brennan's customary club soda and lime. Brennan looked at it was disappointment evident on her face.

"What?" Booth laughed.

Brennan made a face as she reached up and took a sip. "Nothing, I guess."

"You can order something stronger if you want it, Bones. No one's stopping you," Booth said lightly.

Shrugging, Brennan said, "It's okay… I don't really want to… not… not now. I don't need to… I just… it's just cold outside. Normally, on a night like tonight, I'd get something a bit stronger just to warm up. But, I'm okay with the usual." She reached for the drink with a smile. Booth gave her an appreciative nod.

The pair remained quiet for a couple of minutes before Booth said, "So, what do you think about Sully's news?"

Brennan's eyes widened. "Oh, you mean you've heard?"

"Course," Booth chuckled. "Perotta almost crushed his windpipe when he snuck up on her with the engagement ring." He laughed again. "I told Sully it wasn't a brilliant idea to sneak up on her life that at the gun range, but he wanted to surprise her... catch her off guard before he popped the question."

Brennan laughed. "Yeah, well he's almost the one who got popped."

Booth nodded. "They're an odd match… but, Sully's good for her. Helps her lighten up when she's so serious."

Nodding, her smile softening at this, Brennan said, "Yes, and Payton helps him… I don't know… be a bit more... grounded?"

"Or, will at least help him limit his resume to less than two dozen job specialties?" Booth joked.

"Well, there is that," Brennan said. "There is that."

* * *

><p>Brennan didn't have any time that night to see what her dreams would bring her. Not an hour after she had gotten home, barely having had enough time to shower and change and get ready for bed, she found her cell phone ringing. It was Sully, and there was a case. Okay, technically not a new case, but an old one. JJ Booth had finally been found in New York City earlier that evening. He was being brought to the Hoover for questioning in the apparent homicides of his infant daughter and for issues related to the current whereabouts of his wife Sarah, and Sully needed his partner there to help in the interrogation. Apologizing as he explained, Sully told her he would have spared her participation given that the situation would require her to have proximity to Booth, but he didn't really have any choice. He told her that he desperately needed her help with the interrogation... because Sully fully expected to be needed and occupied in the observation room, holding Booth back from pouncing upon his father as soon as the older man walked through the door. Brennan, after telling Sully to stop apologizing because it really wasn't a big deal, added that she would be there within the half hour, if not sooner.<p>

* * *

><p>By the time I arrived at the Hoover, Booth's father had already been brought in... and, much as Sully had anticipated, Booth wanted to break down the door to the interrogation room as soon as he knew which one was holding his father. Sully stood between Booth and the door, and he didn't have much more time than the few seconds needed to nod at me in greeting.<p>

"Is he in there?" I asked, although the way Booth kept angling his shoulder at the door made it clear what the answer to my question was.

Sully nodded. "Yeah. Payton's in there with him. I... I asked her to help in the interrogation so you wouldn't have to do this by yourself if you didn't want to, Tempe. I... we were both up anyway when I got the call, so I thought it made sense."

"I want to question him," Booth said, firmly. I knew from the tone it seemed as if this statement had already been made at least one time, if not more. Sully's vigorous head shake again confirmed that assumption which he followed with a verbal response, just so that there would be no mistakes on Booth's part.

"You shouldn't even be here now, Booth," Sully said. "If I let you enter that room, Caroline will have my ass for prejudicing the interview and tainting any information we get out of him - possibly even a confession."

"He's my father," Booth ground out.

Sully nodded. "I know. That's why I called you, and why you're here now, being allowed to watch things as they happen... instead of receiving a phone call tomorrow morning after the fact."

Taking a step forward, I inclined my head at Booth, my decision already made. "I'll wear an earpiece. If there's something you want me to ask him, or if you see something I need to press, you can tell me."

Booth's head jerked in my direction as he considered my words. At last, he nodded, and gave me some kind of look... in gratitude, perhaps? Turning, I glanced at Sully. His eyes quickly darted back and forth between us, a small look of surprise on his face. However, focusing his eyes back on me, he nodded himself in agreement with my plan.

* * *

><p>Two hours later, Brennan sat in a chair next to Booth, in his office. She scrutinized his face, as he began to lower the icepack he held to his split lip.<p>

"I think the bleeding's stopped, but it couldn't hurt to keep it on there for a few more minutes," Brennan observed.

Lowering the ice pack even further, Booth said, "What's the fucking point? Half of my face is already numb anyway."

Brennan shrugged. She then nodded, "How's your cheek?"

"Bruised," Booth grunted.

"He hit you pretty hard," Brennan conceded.

"Yup," Booth muttered. "What you saw in there were the beginning notes of JJ Booth's Greatest Hits when it comes to wailing on his son."

Somewhat taken aback by the candor of a comment that referenced the abuse he had suffered at the hands of his father during childhood, particularly when Booth had rarely even spoken of it is general vagaries over the years, Brennan stopped for a moment and considered his comments. The anger and bitterness in his voice especially caught Brennan's attention, and not for the first time that night, she found a small flush of sympathy for him coursing through her brain.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

"Don't," Booth said, waving his hand in her direction. "I've taken about all I can take tonight. If you start... pitying me, I-I... I just can't deal with that right now, okay?"

Nodding, Brennan was silent again as she watched Booth battle with his thoughts while he looked down at the floor. At last, he finally glanced up, and Brennan saw for the first time, that his eyes had started to fill with tears. Over the years, Brennan had rarely seen him so emotional. The night in front of the Hoover, certainly, and perhaps in one or two other moments of extreme stress... but, nothing quite like this.

"That son of a bitch," he said, shaking his head as his voice quivered. "Bones, that son of a bitch... what did he do to them? My mother? My sister... Jesus, she was just a *baby*. She wasn't even three months old yet... just a baby..."

Swallowing, Booth dropped the ice pack on the floor, and used his hands to wipe away the tears.

Hesitantly, Brennan reached out and lightly placed her hand on his knee. Booth's head jerked up, and the suddenness of his reaction frightened her so much that she almost pulled away. However, she didn't, and instead, said, "Don't worry. He may not being saying anything now. But, he will. And, we *will* find out what happened to them, Booth."

"How can you know that?" Booth asked.

"Because," Brennan said. "It's what we do... and we're very good at our jobs."

Pulling her hand away, neither one realized that it had been the first time either one of them had used the adjective 'we' in reference to Booth and Brennan's partnership in a long, long time... with, perhaps, the hope of it being something more than just a distant and painful memory confined to the past.

* * *

><p>Brennan didn't dream that night. However, two nights later... somewhat unexpectedly given it was the first time that she had such a dream on an evening that wasn't a Thursday night, as soon as she collapsed into a very deep, deep sleep... she dreamed again.<p>

Just like all the others, this one started in much the same way. It was dark, the room was cold... she was with a man, and they were in a horizontal position that implied some type of sexual activity was about to take place. Only, this time, instead of Brennan finding herself on top staring down into the formless face of her partner, this time, she was under him. He towered over her, warm and dominant and aggressive. His hands moved with a deliberate intent, almost mechanical in their ministrations. The sensations his actions elicited from her continued to increase with each movement and each motion. Pulling at her jeans, he then pushed them off her waist and down her legs at the same time she tried to shimmy out of them. Brennan felt him groping her hips, fingers running down the inside of her thighs, and a sudden swift intake of breath when his fingers hesitantly pulled at the edge of her soaked panties... more... she wanted more, she thought. Brennan needed more. Writhing in pleasure, just as he was about to lean down and let his fingers give her what she desperately craved... Brennan found herself once again staring at the ceiling of her bedroom.

Flushed, sweaty, and heart racing. Brennan's body quivered in unfulfilled anticipation. Cursing, she gulped down several deep breaths of air, both annoyed and terrified that the dreams seemed to be getting more intense... and her reaction, in turn, was responding to that intensity.

Needless to say, Brennan had a hard time falling asleep again later that night... and on several other nights that ensued. Each night, she saw, she felt a little bit more. But, each night she awoke before achieving release... and never, never did she get a clear inkling of who exactly her dream lover was.

* * *

><p>On Halloween, he surprised me. We had agreed to meet early because the Jeffersonian's annual party started promptly at eight. When I arrived, Booth was dressed… exactly the same way I was… in a black pants suit, white button-down dress shirt, black tie, shiny black shoes, and black sunglasses.<p>

"Oh, come on!" I laughed.

"What?" Booth said, looking down at his costume. "I'm wearing the same exact thing as you," he said. "What's so funny?"

"*Why* are you wearing the exact same thing as I am?"

"Because," he smiled. "Cam invited me… and… with an idea like that, how could I say no to Hodgins? The Squint-Squad does the Men in Black? I couldn't miss that now, could I?" He brushed an imaginary piece of lint off his jacket as he said, "Besides, the costume was really easy for me to find… seeing as how all I really needed was the shades."

I nodded, mildly amused. "You're coming?"

"Yeah. That okay?"

I shrugged. "Suit yourself."

He gestured at his attire. "I believe I did."

"Very funny, Booth," I smirked. "Very funny."

* * *

><p>Brennan and Booth eventually left the pub and arrived at the Jeffersonian in separate cars. Both headed to the lab, and arrived only a few moments after one another. To say that the group, upon seeing everyone stand in one place, looked... eerily realistic, was an understatement. The costume *was* simple enough. Dark black pants suits, crisp white button down dress shirts, long black neck ties, and shiny black shoes - dress loafers for the men, and black patent leather shoes for the women. Standard black sunglasses lay propped up on the heads of women, like Cam and Angela, while Hodgins insisted on wearing his at all times. Brennan was holding hers in her hands while Booth's lay clipped on his dress shirt just where his tie began to fall. Once Brennan and Booth arrived, the only person the group was waiting for remained Sully. It took a few more moments, before, yes, he came talking into the lab, looking much like he did on any other day... except for the sunglasses he too was wearing.<p>

Standing in front of the group, arms extended, Sully laughed when he saw everyone. "Wow. Look at us."

"Yes," Cam said. "It is frighteningly realistic."

"We should take a picture," Sully said.

"Don't worry, we will," Angela said. "Many, I'm sure, before the night is over."

Hodgins posed and said, "As well we should, because... I *am* the new hotness."

At this, Angela laughed lightly.

Hodgins looked to her and scowled. "Angie!"

"I'm sorry, Jack. As much as I love you, you just... I'm sorry, baby. But, *you* are not *Will Smith*," she chuckled.

"Yeah, well, at least for tonight you have to call me Agent J, Agent A," Hodgins countered.

"Hey," Sully chimed in. "I thought they went by last names. So, I'm Agent S?"

"Nope," Cam said. "We have too many people with last names that start with the same first letter. So, we're going with first names, except well... except, oh, that's right. Tim starts with 'T'."

"All my life," Sully grinned.

"But, according to your plan, I should be Agent T," Brennan pointed out.

"Err, yeah, that's true, Hodgins," Cam said, turning to face the etymologist. "Ideas?"

Hodgins shrugged. "Fine. Sully can be Agent S and Dr. B can be Agent T. Any other issues you need to esteemed Agent J to solve for you Agent C?"

"Yeah, what about Booth?"

"That's a fair point, Bugman," Booth said. "If Sully is Agent S, what does that leave for me?"

Hodgins turned to Sully and pointed. "Okay, I'm sorry, Sully. As much as I like you, your name is just messing with my nominative mojo too much. You're gonna have to stay here."

"Jack!" Angela chided him.

"What?" Hodgins asked.

Angela scowled and pointed. Hodgins turned back to Sully and scowled but said, "Sorry."

Sully laughed. "No problem. How about we just go with... Agent T2 then?"

"That's very complicated," Brennan said.

"But, it sound really cool," Sully said. "You know... I'll be able to mix my sci-fi metaphors all night. I think I like it."

"Fine," Hodgins conceded. "You can be Agent T2... but you are limited to twelve Arnold jokes or less before midnight."

"Good call," Cam said. "Now, if you can just explain to me why you seem to be enjoying this way too much aside from the obvious, Hodgins, we can go," Cam said laughing.

"Agent J, if you please," he corrected.

Angela rolled her eyes at her husband before she turned to the pathologist and said, "Come on, Cam. Aside from the 'men in black suits' angle... isn't it obvious? He wants to stick it to the Paleontology Lab staff after that trick they pulled at the Fourth of July picnic with the three-legged race."

"Yes," Brennan said. "I find the idea of exacting some retribution from them after that little stunt a very gratifying idea."

Several pairs of eyes widened as they turned to Brennan.

She looked from face to face as she said in confusion, "What?"

"Since when are you into 'exacting retribution', Dr. B?" Hodgins laughed.

Brennan shrugged. "They fought dirty. Angela had a badly sprained ankle for almost a month. And, on a slightly tangential note, I find that I am still quite annoyed that Dr. Brigands was able to convince Ms. Jackson to accept his internship position instead of the offer that I made to her in regards to accepting in my department here at the Jeffersonian. It was quite annoying considering the fact that she learned of the Institute's internship programs from me in the first place."

"Heh heh," Sully laughed, moving forward to give Brennan a light punch on the arm. "I knew it, Tempe. It's never something with you unless it's personal, right?"

Brennan narrowed her eyes and looked down, but smiled a small smile at Sully as she didn't bother to deny his words.

"So, people, we ready to get going or what?" Booth spoke up sudden. "We've got the black suits, black shades, and bad-ass attitude... so let's do it, huh?"

His exclamation was met with a rousing round of cheers from the entire group.

Several hours later, Brennan was tired and her feet ached a bit from the amount of dancing she had been coerced into participating in by both Hodgins and Sully all night. The entire group had just finished dancing a spirited impromptu routine to "Dead Man's Party." At one point, Brennan had found herself dancing next to Booth, and she laughed at him when he almost tripped in a step to avoid her uncoordinated movements in heels. The routine quickly shifted them away from each other, but Brennan still was smiling at the end of the song over their clumsy antics.

A few minutes later, Brennan had made her way to the edge of the dance floor and claimed a seat at an empty table. Her eyes scanned the room as they finally found Sully dancing with one of the Jeffersonian's older directors, who appeared to be still quite spry despite her age. Booth seemed to be competing with Cam in very involved dance step as the music continued to pulse with the sounds of Michael Jackson and other holiday-themed favorites. Not long after she sat down, Angela and Hodgins appeared to join her. Realizing how thirty everyone was, Hodgins immediately volunteered to go to the bar to get everyone a round of sodas to quench their thirst as Angela joined her friend in rubbing their abused feet.

Smiling, Angela nodded at Brennan as she said, "So, foot abuse aside, it looks like you're having a good time, Bren."

Nodding, Brennan smiled a true smile that her friend had not seen in many, many months as she said, "Yes, I am. Much more than I thought at the beginning of the night. It's... it's been a very fun evening."

Angela began to think that perhaps the real Brennan had just been in slumber, recuperating until the time she was finally ready to face the world again. Pleased and hopeful of her friend's genuine smile, Angela whispered a silent prayer of thanks to whatever deity that might be listening for the first real indicator that she had seen in many, many months that maybe she hadn't lost her best friend after all. Perhaps all Brennan had really needed after all was space and time before she would be whole once more. At least, that's what Angela dared to hope... and all because she had seen a glimpse of the old Brennan as had not been seen in a long, long time.

* * *

><p>Later that night, although we didn't say much to each other, not for any deliberate reason, but because other people and things demanded our attention, that was the first time I had realized in months that I had walked into the Jeffersonian, gone to a function, and not thought of Wendall.<p>

And, later, although I hadn't realized it... I should have known that, in the course of just drinking, just talking, and just passing the time... I had started living again. Life had somehow managed to tempt me into braving its tortuous grip once more. I had accidentally backed into the process without realizing it... while still thinking I was safely sitting on the sidelines. Hauntingly, at that point, I thought I had escaped the trap... and, that's the beauty of it really. By the time I realized I had jumped on the merry-go-round again, I was already on the ride, smack dab in the middle of it. After all, that's what happens when you least expect it. Life... it happens, it catches you off guard... and unless you chose to stop living... intentional or not... I had backed myself into something that I would later come to wonder if I had really ever really extricated myself from at all in the first place.

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	13. Ch 12: Twelve Months After, Part 1

He Shouldn't Have Done That

By: Lesera128

Rated: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Brennan ends her partnership with Booth after she considers his confession to Hannah about her the ultimate betrayal. AU.

* * *

><p>Chapter 12 – Twelve Months After, Part I<p>

* * *

><p>I should have known as soon as I saw what the date was that somehow, someway, despite my best intentions, it was going to be a horrible day. And, despite my most fervent declarations, my most studious efforts to ensure that the day went in any other way but the way in which I feared it would go, it was a very, very bad day. Somewhat coincidentally, it was a Thursday. So, after the mid-afternoon mail drop shell-shocked me into a quivering puddle of regret and sadness and guilt, I probably would have gone somewhere for a drink even if it hadn't been a Thursday. I was a mess by the time he got there. It was a year later... a year to the day that horrible, horrible conversation in the SUV had happened. And, as if the universe were deciding to get it's proverbial kicks at me, it was on this day that I had received a thick package in my mailbox at the Jeffersonian. A simple set of publishing proofs, coming on this day, of all days, had sent me reeling for the bar.<p>

By the time Booth found me at 7:30pm, I was already half way on my way to being drunk. It was the first time in almost two months... since that night we drank tequila and spent the evening talking until closing, that I had drank anything more potent than ginger ale or club soda. When he arrived at the pub, Booth saw me and found me much as I had been on that prior evening. I was sitting in front of a shot glass, a bottle of tequila, a bowl of lime wedges, and a salt shaker. Sliding into his normal stool, he arched his eyebrow at me.

"Tough day?"

Nodding, I said, "Yup." I pushed a stack of bound paper towards him by way of explanation. "Got that this afternoon."

Booth glanced at it. The name on the front of the manuscript would be enough to have told him all he needed to know about what had sent me running for the nearest bar. However, a large yellow post-it note differentiated a single place in the manuscript and gave him additional clarification... if he had needed any. Scanning the first few pages, Booth grimaced when he saw the words.

"His dissertation?"

"Yes."

Booth glanced at the page differentiated from the others by the sticky note and turned to read it. He winced again as he saw it was the book's dedication page. It read:

_With all honor, respect, and deepest gratitude to my family and neighbors who made this impossible work a possibility. And, to, Dr. Temperance Brennan... without her keen insights, extensive professional knowledge, and tireless efforts to shape my understanding of forensic anthropology, I would not be the scientist that I am today. Without her personal faith, depth of heart, and never-ending support, I would not be the man I am today. I will never be able to say 'thank you' enough, Tempe... only give my sincere thanks and profess my deepest feelings to someone whose heart is truly open and so easy to love._

When he was finished reading, Booth let the pages fall back into their normal order. He sighed heavily.

I nodded at the sigh. "Yup."

"Yeah," Booth agreed. He was quiet for a moment before he said, "I take it you didn't know about the dedication?"

"Nope," I responded. "He... he submitted it... about a week, maybe two weeks before-" My voice trailed off as I was unable to complete the thought.

Booth again sighed. "Yeah."

Signalling to the bartender, Booth soon had a shot glass of his own in front of him. We didn't say much after that, but we did drink. God, we drank... and drank... and drank.

Several hours later, we sat in the cab outside my apartment building. Both of us were drunk, extremely so, but, despite the alcohol, both had remained quiet from the pub to my place. At last, the time for the decision having to be made, I grabbed the door handle and got out. Booth stared at me, and I stared back at him for several seconds. When I turned to go, obviously he had already reached his decision, because, this time when I turned to go… this time, he didn't let me walk away. This time, he got out of the cab and followed me inside.

* * *

><p>When the cab carrying Booth and Brennan arrived at her apartment, Booth was unsure what was going to happen. His senses and ability to think rationally had disappeared, and, with the, it also seemed that his ability to make long term plans had ceased functioning, and Booth could only make a choice when actually confronted by the decision. Thus, when Brennan got out of the cab, stopped, and looked at him - stared at him really, he dealt with the issue as soon as it surfaced.<p>

Choice: get out of the cab and follow Brennan upstairs OR stay in the cab and go home.

Booth knew what would happen if he chose the second option. He'd experienced that particular outcome on several occasions. So, curiosity demanding he go for a different outcome... he went with option #1, got out of the cab, followed her, and decided to see what would happen.

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><p>When I got out of the cab, I didn't expect him to follow. He's never done that. I've always, *always* walked away. He's always stayed. He's never followed. I don't know why he did that night, I honestly don't know. Curiosity? Boredom? A random fancy that gripped him at that moment? Like I said, I don't know why Booth did it… but he followed me. And, as I opened the door to my apartment, juggling the keys, and fumbling with the door lock, he remained standing behind me. Pushing the door open, I looked back at him over my shoulder. Booth was still there, and he raised an eyebrow to ask the unspoken question.<p>

_Can I come in?_

_Why would you want to?_

_Can I come in?_

_Your choice._

I shrugged, but left the door open behind me. I heard him enter and shut and lock the door behind me. Suddenly, I felt the buzz I had worked up over the course of the evening starting to wane. I went to the kitchen and pulled out another bottle of alcohol. I didn't know what it was at first. It was a tall-fifth of *something* alcoholic that was full and unopened and those qualifications were the only ones that really mattered to me. Reaching for a glass, I stumbled back to the family room and collapsed onto my couch. Booth followed at some point, sitting a distance away from me. As I said, he was intoxicated by that point, about even with me... maybe a little less. True, I had probably drank more on a numerically per drink basis than he did... but I had also been at it for several hours longer than he. I don't know how drunk Booth was, but his demeanor had changed over some point of the course of the evening. I couldn't read him very well anymore, but I could still sense that much, at least.

Shaking my head, I decided that I definitely was not drunk enough. I reached for the bottle and glanced down at the label, really by accident. I felt a scream catch in my throat as I read the label – and my thoughts flashed back – the bottle of Vodka on the kitchen counter on the day I had come home from the hospital. The same goddamn bottle that Wendall forgot to bring in the car with us because we were running late that night for Angela's party… God, why?

Booth looked at me when I cried out, jumping a bit as the yell pierced the air. He saw my eyes water and looked at the bottle.

"What is it?"

I shook my head. Pursing my lips, I pushed away the sadness. I was so fucking tired of feeling sad. Anger, indignation… those I needed to cling to… *those* feelings weren't weak. I was so tired of feeling weak, and when I didn't feel weak, being scared of feeling weak again. No, I wasn't going to do it anymore. This ended now.

My head snapping up, I snapped, "Nothing. It's… nothing."

Angrily twisting the top off the vodka bottle, I gestured in his direction as I said, "Are you done drinking or do you want one?"

Booth eyed me, but nodded. "If you're still drinking, I'll have one."

Grabbing the glass, I poured a healthy amount into the single glass I had brought from the kitchen. I then pushed it hastily in his direction. "Here."

Taking the glass, our fingers brushed for just a moment. I stared at it. He stared at it. Booth was warm. So warm.

Looking up at me, he said, "Why are you doing this?"

There it was… the question he had been wanting to ask me? Or, maybe it was just *a* question… and not the exact one I thought he would ask. But, it was a question nonetheless. My eyes leveling at his, I didn't know *exactly* to what Booth was referring… I supposed it was some vague reference to how I had been… coping. It didn't really matter, though, because the answer was the same.

"I don't know what else to do so I don't feel so fucking sad every time I think about him," I muttered. "Every time I think I've to a grip on what's happened, something happens, and I realize I don't. And, I feel so incredibly guilty about things. He deserved better than me. But, he was so happy, and I don't know why. And, I wasn't, but I tried. I tried so hard, and I still couldn't... and all that's left is guilt and disappointment. I don't expect you to understand that—"

"Oh, but I do," Booth said.

"Why?" I laughed. "How could you possibly know?"

He took the glass and began to drink it in a couple of large swallows. I took the opportunity to take a drink directly from the bottle. I made a face as the vodka went down the back of my throat. It scratched a bit on the way down, and a small part of me wondered how the tequila would mix with the vodka. At that point, though, I didn't really care.

Holding out the glass, indicating that he wanted me to refill it, Booth said a single word. "Hannah."

It was the first time he had mentioned her name in… well, in as long as I could remember. I considered it for a minute before I nodded. Then, maybe it was because he had brought it up… maybe it was the alcohol… maybe it was my desperation to not think about Wendall, I looked at him and asked, "What happened there?"

At that, Booth made a look and raised the glass to his mouth. He considered his response carefully before he said, "After you, I couldn't compromise again."

Whatever response I was expecting, it wasn't that one, particularly as it jogged loose a long ago buried part of randomness that had hung at the edge of my mind for months, and in the pain of losing Wendall, I had ignored it.

_-That's not true. I compromised for you, didn't I? I didn't walk away when you tore my heart out and asked me to say 'thank you' when you stomped all over it. I could have, I should have, but I didn't, because it was you, because of what you asked of me, because it was *you* who was asking.—_

The words. The words from my dream… that last dream before I stopped dreaming about Booth. How did he know those words?

I grimaced, and shook my head. Alcohol. I needed more alcohol. I took a long swig from the bottle, knowing if I wasn't careful that I would end up throwing up all over my living room or suffering an acute case of alcohol poisoning. At that particular moment, I didn't really care which one happened as long as I… God, it was happening again. I was out of control – when did I get this out of control? Stop… it's got to stop. I stood up, poised to run, and this time, his hand shot out. Fast, so fast.

"Don't," he said.

Looking down at him, where he was clutching my arm, I said, "Don't what?"

"Don't do it again. We aren't done here. Don't do it again," Booth said quietly.

Another flash. His hand on my arm. Again. That night. That goddamn night.

_-Don't you dare walk away from me. You do NOT get to walk away from me again.-_

_-_ _Get away from me.-_

_- No. We aren't done here.-_

_- Don't tell me what to do.-_

_-You *are* going to stop, and you *are* going to listen to me.-_

_- LET. GO. OF. ME. NOW.-_

"You didn't let go that night, did you?" I asked softly.

God, the world was spinning. When did it start spinning again? Why is it spinning?

Booth hadn't let go of my arm. He looked up at me and shook his head. The stunned look on my face seemed to surprise him. "What?" he asked.

"A dream," I said. "I thought... I thought that was... It *was* a dream."

"No," Booth shook his head. "It wasn't."

"Yes," I insisted. "It was a dream. It wasn't real. It didn't happen."

His brow furrowed in confusion, Booth shook his head. "Yes, it did. And... you knew that."

"No, I didn't," I confessed.

At this, his face became somewhat angry as Booth said, "That's not funny. Don't joke about that."

"I'm not," I said honestly. "I... I didn't know."

"How could you not?" Booth said, a wave of emotion coming into his voice. "After all that had happened... how could you not know about that night?"

I shook my head. "I thought it was a dream." I stopped for a moment, pausing to think. "I... after the... after I ended the partnership, I spent a lot of nights dreaming about you."

"You dreamed about me?" Booth asked.

Nodding slowly, I said, "Yeah." I stopped and then said, "In a lot of ways, it was the crutch that got me through this the last time."

"What did you dream?" he asked.

"Usually, it was just talking," I said. "We'd be in different places... your office, my office, the diner, on the bench in the Mall... and we'd talk."

"About what?"

"Well, to be honest," I replied, looking back at him. "I said to you in my dreams what I wasn't ready to... or didn't want to say to you-you."

"And... so, that night... you thought that was another... dream?" Booth said, with an uncertain look on his face.

"Yes, I did," I admitted. "I, ah... stopped having dreams about you after that one. I thought... it's hard to explain, but the dreams stopped after that night."

Looking at me, Booth was quiet before he said, "I thought you knew."

"Knew what?"

"It wasn't a dream. I thought you knew... for weeks... all the weeks we've been doing this thing... talking... you know? I... I thought you knew and still wanted to... I thought you wanted to anyway," his voice trailed off.

I shrugged. "It doesn't matter, really, does it? I mean, dream or not... the end result was still the same."

_-If you loved me… I hate to think what you do to people when they really piss you off, Booth. Because, you know what… your love? It sucks. It cuts and bites and hurts and makes the one you say you love bleed. You cut me and left me to bleed until there was nothing left. There is *NOTHING* left.-_

"But, I suppose... I suppose I've got to admit that I-I… I was lying when I said there was nothing left that night," I said softly. "I-I… there must have been because of… well, because of what happened after."

"And now?" he asked.

Shaking my head, "And, now? Now. *Now*, there really isn't nothing left. Between the two of you, this year… it's taken everything I have, everything I am. There's nothing left. And, I'm so sick of it. I'm so tired of feeling nothing but pain and hurt and sorrow and regret every time I build myself up, distract myself from him, and then get reminded somehow like that goddamn dissertation. And, then everything I've spent all this time trying to rebuild, it just comes crashing down all over again. I'm so fucking sick of it. All of it. Just... all of it."

Booth lightened his touch, but still hadn't let go. "Sit down. Please."

I sighed, looked from his hand to his eyes, and saw the pleading there. "Fine."

I threw myself down on the couch. Both of us were quiet for a moment. At last, he drew a breath and began to speak.

"What happened between you and I, Bones… between you and I… it was different. You've got to know that… what happened with Wendall—"

"Don't!" I screeched. "Please… don't say his name."

"I'm sorry," he said. Contrite, he was genuinely contrite when he looked at me. "But, you've got to deal with this. It's killing you. Everyone sees it. You keep trying to put things back together, and you're never going to be able to do that until you've let him go. That feeling that you said you keep having about feeling like you've put things back together, and they keep falling apart whenever something reminds you of him? That's just not going to stop and go away unless you deal with the reason as to why it keeps happening. More importantly, it's not right. You've got to stop. You know he wouldn't want you to do this to yourself. And, the way to stop is to start by understanding that Wendall didn't leave you."

I sobbed again as I heard the name. "Please, please, I'm begging you," I cried. "Please, if you ever felt anything for me... If you were ever grateful for any aspect of our partnership in the slightest, if you ever were really my friend…. *please*… don't say his name."

"I have to… you've got to hear this… and let it go."

"No," I said, shaking my head. "I won't. I can't."

"Wendall didn't leave you, Bones. He died. It wasn't his choice, and I think you know that," Booth said.

My head snapped up as another vague memory came to the forefront of my mind. Pain, and darkness and the rain. The night of the accident. The blackness, at some point, had faded to a dull grey. I was still strapped into the car's passenger seat. The air bags had deployed. The windshield was cracked… shattered. The glass was scattered everywhere. I couldn't move very much, just turned my head a fraction of an inch. God, Wendall… there was blood. So much blood. But, he was conscious, moaning… moaning… and talking? I remember reaching out my hand…. in reality… just a finger touched him. He tilted his head to me at that point, I remember it… and he looked at me and smiled.

"_Tempe… __I... ple-please don't. Just don't make me go. I-I don't want to go. I love -it's been lovely. Being here with - with you, I love you. Please, don't make me go—"_

"Oh, God, Booth. Please don't… please don't make me do this," I cried.

"You have to… you have to let it go," he said.

I had started crying again. "Wendall- he was looking at me and he was saying 'Don't make me leave.' He said that he - he loved being there. Why would he think that I'm the one making him leave? What kind of person am I? Why would I make him leave? What kind of monster would he think I was to make him do that? I wanted him to stay, Booth. I-I-I wanted him to stay… I didn't want him to leave… leave me."

I was shaking again, now, the sobs coming harder. When did I start crying?

For some reason I'll never know, Booth reached out and pulled me towards him. "No. Come here. No. No. No. No, Bones. You got that all *wrong*. You got it wrong," he said into my hair.

"No. I-I heard him. 'Don't make me leave.' That's what he said," I breathed.

"He wasn't talking to you," Booth said softly.

"I was the only one there—"

"He was talking to God. He didn't want to die," Booth said as gently as he could.

"No. No, he was talking to me. He was staring straight at me when he said it, Booth."

"No, Bones. He didn't want to go. He wasn't ready, Bones. He wanted to stay," Booth replied. "He didn't want to leave you."

"Well, if there was a God, he would have let Wendall stay here with us, with me," I pleaded.

"That's not how it works."

And, in that moment, I knew he was right. I pulled away from him, the tears still running down my face. "Can you just-?"

"Yeah," he said, pulling me back into his arms.

And, I started to cry again. For all of it. Wendall… the past year. Everything I'd lost… all of it. And, I don't think I even heard the words so much as felt them as Booth continued to hold me.

"That's why I'm here. I'm right here. I know it's hard. But, it's okay to be okay. I promise. It'll be okay. Shush—"

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	14. Ch 13: Twelve Months After, Part 2

He Shouldn't Have Done That

By: Lesera128

Rated: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Brennan ends her partnership with Booth after she considers his confession to Hannah about her the ultimate betrayal. AU.

* * *

><p>Chapter 13 – Twelve Months After, Part II<p>

* * *

><p>Throughout the course of history, the majority of mistakes have been explained with the opening line – 'it seemed like a good idea at the time.' This night would be no different it seemed. It was illogical, it was something I had never *ever* possibly conceptualized occurring a year ago. But, here we were. I can't explain it, but here I was... here Booth was... here we were. And, at the time... it seemed like a good idea.<p>

I spent a long time in Booth's arms. I'm not certain why I let him do that or why he let me do that. I think... maybe, it was because he was there, and he offered. After all, I am a user. I take what's offered. It's what I do, what I've always done. So, Booth was there, and he was offering, and I wanted to be held. I wanted to feel something strong, something warm, something that was real. And, so he held me, and I cried. At last, at some point, I didn't have any more tears left, and, eventually my sobs subsided. When I felt some sense of control seep back into my consciousness, I was torn. I didn't really want to be out of control enough to start crying again, but I didn't want to be in control enough to have other negative emotional responses – I didn't want to start remembering my anger, resentment, regrets that lingered over so many things. It would be a delicate line to balance, but if I was careful, I could manage it.

Slowly, I leaned forward and slipped out of Booth's arms. I shivered a bit at the loss of contact. He was warm and strong and… *there*. He watched me as I reached for the bottle of vodka from the coffee table.

As I took a long drink, he said, "Careful. You keep that up, you're going to end up either needing a bucket or passed out."

I nodded firmly at him. "Good. I want to pass out. I do. I want to. I want this day to be over... done with... finished. I want to go to sleep or pass out... just whatever I have to do so that it's not tonight and it's tomorrow instead."

"You can't keep using alcohol as a crutch, Bones," Booth said softly. "Every time... you see something with his name on it... every time you come into contact with some reminder of him? You can't do it. More importantly, it's not fair to him. You shouldn't do it. It's not right. If there's anyone that knows that fact, it's the son of an alcoholic."

My head whipped up at that. "So, you're saying I'm an alcoholic now?"

"No," he said slowly. "Not necessarily. I... I-I'm just saying... it's really easy for something like this to be a fallback response. I think you're starting to use alcohol as a coping mechanism, and... it's becoming habit. It's not a good thing, Bones. It can spiral out of control before you've even realized what's happened."

I slowly nodded. "I know," I said wistfully. "I *know* that… and, I'm working on it. That's why I stopped two months ago. Didn't have a drink that entire time, did I? I stopped before, and I will again tomorrow. It's just... I'll stop. I know I need to stop. Just, not tonight. After tonight, I will. Starting tomorrow when I wake up tomorrow. I promise. Just, I-I-I just… tonight, okay? Just tonight… I need… I know I need… I just need to stop, and I will. But, I can't handle that... and all of this right now, okay?"

He shrugged. "Your call."

I nodded. "Yeah, it is."

Leaning forward, he reached for the glass that he had been drinking from earlier. Grabbing it, Booth extended it in expectation. "Can I?"

I cocked my head at this and said, "Why?"

"Because my buzz is starting to wear off, and I really, really would like to hold on to it for a while longer," he confessed.

Shrugging my shoulders, I refilled the glass. He downed the shot quickly and said, "Can I ask you something?"

I sighed. "Sure."

"When did you decide that you were going to let this thing win? When did you give up?"

It was a simple question. One I wasn't quite sure how to answer, given he could be meaning so many things. At last, I decided an open-ended question deserved an open-ended answer.

"There wasn't really a set point," I said, fingering the bottle's handle. "I mean, I guess... maybe it was today?" I stopped talking and looked away. "You know... you know I've been trying these past couple of months. I've been trying to make my peace with things, let things go. But, it's been a really bitchy year. And... today... getting that goddamn package on today... today, of all days."

He paused and looked up at me. "What's today?"

At this, I swallowed a cry. Of course, he wouldn't remember. Why would he?

Pursing my lips, I said, "A year ago... it was raining, and-" I glanced at my watch and nodded. "As of about a half-hour ago, you had just saved my life in Woodland, and we were driving back to the Jeffersonian, and I was pouring my heart out to you about finally getting the right signal at the wrong time and about not wanting to have any regrets."

The words seem to hit him like a physical blow. He looked up and away from me. Booth's face tensed, but then he looked back at me in a plea to continue speaking.

"So... it's sort of been a cumulative thing. Each time something happened, pushed me a little bit more, stretched me a little bit further, And, today, when I saw that dedication... I realized that my strength... my ability to fight and sustain myself... recover, I just don't have the same stamina anymore. I can't keep taking these hits. I just can't do it anymore. I don't want to do it anymore. I'm done fighting. I just… I just said… 'fuck it'… I know I wasn't supposed to, but, I did try... and I can't... so, I've been going from day-to-day ever since." I paused before I added, "I'm sorry. I know... I know that-"

"No," Booth said. "Don't apologize. You've taken all you could take today, and that's okay. Everyone has their limits, Bones."

"Even you?"

Booth was quiet for a moment before he said, "Yeah, even me."

"Is that what happened the night you went to the Founding Fathers?" I asked, curious.

He nodded. "I was so angry that night... and, then... you showed up... and-"

"What?" I asked.

"How much do you remember about that night?"

I paused, and considered the question. Again, I didn't really know how to answer it given that my memories were… hazy, at best, of the evening. Again, I decided a blatantly honest answer was the best way to tackle the question. "Honestly… yes and no." I pursed my lips together, struggling to see what I could recall.. "I… I'm still a bit… uncertain about… parts of what… happened." I stopped and looked up at him. "How much do you remember?"

Looking away, he flushed at the question, and then, right then, I knew the answer to my question. Booth remembered more than I did… or, at least enough.

Turning back to face me, he said, "I… I… was very drunk… but… I remember… pieces. There are... some things I remember. The details aren't all there, but the general idea, yeah. I remember... a fair amount."

I nodded. "The last clear distinct thing I remember was seeing you at the bar. I was standing in the doorway and turned to leave."

"You didn't."

"I figured as much… I remember… I remember talking to you… us exchanging barbs… you grabbing my arm," I closed my eyes, willing the memories to come back. "I told you to let go of my arm. You had grabbed it so hard, I don't remember you ever having grabbed it so hard in the entire time we've known each other—"

His hand came up to his hair as Booth absentmindedly brushed it back in… nervousness? Uncertainty?

"Yeah, well… that part's a bit foggy for me. I remember you were gonna leave, and I didn't want you to… not… I couldn't let you walk away again," he confessed.

I looked away, trying to wrack my brain for the memories. At last, I said, "I don't remember what happened next."

Booth nodded. "I… I'm a little unclear about that, too. I think… you stayed for some reason. We argued... but then... somehow... we stopped arguing, started talking. You stayed. We talked... bickered... and there was more drinking. More accusations... more truth... it... we said a lot that night. I don't remember everything that either one of us said... but it was a lot. And, at some point, one of the bartenders came over and told us it was last call."

At that, finally, *finally* an image seamed to rise from the depths of my consciousness. Last call. Discussion... debate. Where to go next, what to do next... neither one of us wanting to go home yet... neither one of us really having achieved our goal.

"A cab," I muttered. I looked up firmly at him, seeing the image of the taxi cab solidify in my mind. I nodded and continued. "There was a cab... a cab... and a cab ride."

I could see it… in my mind… it looked like a movie clip being played on slow motion… the bar was closing, a cab was waiting at the curb, both of us were too drunk to stand up without one supporting the other. And, so…

"We both got into the same cab," I sad finally.

Booth glanced at me and then shrugged his shoulders lightly. "If you say so." Booth's tone was softer this time when he continued. "I don't remember anything about a cab ride. One minute we were in the bar, and the next minute... the next clear thing that I can really remember is being here."

My eyes narrowed at that. Here? He was here that night? No. I would remember that, surely.

"Booth?" I asked. "We didn't come here. I-I... I would remember that."

"We came here," Booth insisted softly, looking at me with a slight nod.

"We came here?" I repeated, in disbelief.

Looking away again, he answered, "Yes."

"I left, but you followed," I said.

"Yes," he repeated.

"And, then what happened?"

Again, Booth had averted his eyes from mine. He was flushing a deeper red, and this time I felt fairly certain it wasn't from the alcohol consumption.

"Booth?"

"Yeah, Bones?"

"What happened?"

He remained quiet again, still embarrassed. What was he embarrassed about? What was there to remember that he *could* be embarrassed about? What was it that I wasn't remembering?

I stared at him... sitting on the couch. I tried comparing the two images of him... the one from that night with how he looked now. He had been wearing a black button-down shirt that night. I remember that. Not like now. Now, his black leather jacket lay tossed on the back of the couch, and Booth sat on the edge of the couch wearing jeans and a t-shirt. But, that night... there was a black button-down shirt. He had been wearing that black button-down dress shirt.

Buttons.

The image bounced into my conscious mind like a tennis ball hurtling onto my side of the court.

Buttons... buttons... buttons.

Too many buttons. I couldn't get them undone. It was taking too long. Why did the shirt have so many goddamn buttons? And, then... buttons flying. Black buttons flying as I ripped them, the image flashed in my mind. The flash made me wince. My eyes closed in frustration. What was I remembering? What had happened?

Buttons... skin... oh, God... his skin. It was warm, so warm... and... on top of him. *I* was on top of him? Oh, God-

"Booth?" My tone was wavering slightly.

"Yes, Bones?"

"Did we… something happen between us when we came back here?"

A beat of silence was followed by a simple answer. "Yes."

Oh, God. Warm, and skin, and I was on top... on top of him? I was on top of Booth?"

My voice faltered again as I asked the question that I knew needed to be asked. "Booth?"

"Yes, Bones?"

"Did... d-did we have sex that night?"

I searched my mind, silently begging my recall to free from the confines of my long-term memories whatever pieces it would at last surrender to me. Closing my eyes, I shook my head. They weren't fully formed, logical rational memories that were coming to the surface, per se… but flashes? Maybe that's the closest thing to it that I can use to describe them. Flashes?

Blackness. No… it wasn't black, but it was dark. And… cold, it was cold in the apartment because no one had been home all day, and I had left the A/C on accidentally at a much lower temperature than I usually did. We stumbled into the apartment. The keys... why wouldn't they open the goddamn door. I needed to get inside, wanted to be inside. If I could just get inside, I could get at him. But, not here. Not in the hallway. He was behind me, pressing up against my back. God, he was warm. And, hands. His hands were everywhere. The keys... I dropped them once. I had to struggle to get the keys from the floor as he kissed me. Booth? Booth was kissing my neck? Had to get inside. The keys... finally! Finally, I opened the door... and stumbled. We stumbled inside. I went first, and he followed. When did he start following me? And… the couch. He was lying on his back... and I was pulling at his shirt... and there was something. Something on the couch. Me on him... on the couch.

"The couch?" I asked, looking at him. "Here? On the couch?" He was still silent. "Booth!"

Finally, his head snapped back, and Booth insisted, "We didn't have sex that night."

"I remember," I shook my head. "I remember... I was on top of you... here."

His flush deepened. "Yes," he confirmed.

Oh, God... the dreams. The dreams... they... t-t-they weren't-

"What did I do?" I whispered, the shock evident in my voice. "What did we do?" I pressed.

"We didn't have sex that night... per se… but yes… we were on the couch… this couch," Booth said vaguely. "We were together on this couch that night."

My face wrinkled in annoyance and confusion. "And, we didn't have sex that night… per se? What the fuck does that mean?"

Booth sighed. "We… stopped… before… we… had actual intercourse." He was still looking away from me, but then his head turned back to gaze at me as he added, "But—"

"But?" I prodded.

"But… it stopped just short," Booth said at last.

Again, another flash. Hands...my hands? Or... no, not my hands. His hands... and my jeans... writhing... dark eyes. I remember what his eyes looked like. How could I have forgotten that? How? Oh, God, his eyes were dark. His face...

Suddenly, the dreams... I remembered every detail of the dreams. And, now, like a wave of mist had been blown away, I saw him clearly for the first time. My dreams... no, not dreams. Memories. They were memories, and I remembered... Booth... me on top of him, him on top of me... touching, tasting, pulling, pushing. It was him. Goddamn it! It was him, and... why hadn't I remembered?

Why... WHY? WHY?

Booth watched me for a moment. He saw my head shaking slightly. "Do... do you remember now?"

Fuck… how… why? How?

I closed my eyes, again, trying to recall something… anything. But, there wasn't. It was just at the edge. I couldn't get a firm grip. God, I... why?

"I... yes. I think so... I... but, I'm not certain. I'm not sure. You... you need to tell me. What do you remember?"

He was looking away again. "I… like I said… it's a bit vague, Bones. There are pieces… chunks. Lots of space in between, but—"

"But?"

"But… I know we stopped."

"Stopped?" I asked softly.

No, no... we hadn't stopped.

Anger, oh God... the anger flashed in my head. Why was I doing this? Why *did* I do this?

Another flash... hands... this time, my hands, not his. Hands... and his belt buckle. How... oh, God. His belt buckle... and... and boxers. He was wearing blue plaid boxers.

"We didn't stop," I murmured.

Looking at me, he could tell I was remembering. Grabbing my hand, he said, "Yes, we did." I looked up at him. "I remember, Booth... God, you were wearing blue plaid boxers." I closed my eyes tightly, grabbed onto the image firmly, and then I saw it. Yes, it was there. His boxers. They were blue plaid that night. Snapping open, I looked at him directly, and said, "You were wearing blue plaid boxers that night, weren't you?"

Flushing, Booth merely nodded.

"Fuck-" I sighed. "What did we do?"

He looked away, again, but then said, "We... I... I can't deny we did do a lot of things that night, but I'm not lying when I tell you that we... we didn't have intercourse." He ran a hand through his hair as he sighed. Firmly looking at me, the doubt obvious on my face, Booth repeated his earlier words. "We *did* stop, Bones... but…"

"But?" I prompted weakly.

"But, we had made a fair bit of progress in that direction before we did," Booth admitted at last.

Silence weighed down on us for a minute before a thought suddenly occurred to me.

"Was it you or me?" I asked.

"What?" he responded in confusion.

"Was it you or me? Who stopped it? You or me?" I asked again.

Booth shook his head. "I don't know… I think… maybe... both of us?"

Another flash... me pushing off of him... him rolling away to face the wall. And, anger... and regret... not regret at the act... but... oh, God.

"I wanted to hurt you," I choked. "I... I was going to do it. I wanted to hurt you, and I knew if we did it... did *that*... if I could push us into doing that... I would be punishing you. You... I thought, if it kept going, and you used me, it would hurt you the next morning... that's why, why I kept going. I wanted to finally, clearly and without a doubt, be able to accuse you of something unforgivable. I wanted to get you out of my head... and out of my heart. I wanted... I wanted you gone. I just... wanted to stop obsessing about you... about what happened. I wanted you to just be gone. I wanted you away, and oh, God..."

Quiet for a moment, Booth said, "I was so angry that night. So angry. Not just at Hannah... at all women. And, you were a woman, and you were there, and you wouldn't go away. I kept thinking, at some point, you'd finally back down and leave. But, you didn't, and when you didn't, it just made me even more pissed off. So, you were there and were going... and I wanted to take... you. I wanted to take you, take from you, because... you... you've taken so much over the years... that's what you do, Bones... you take. You give, too... and... before... everything... I didn't mind letting you take, because it wasn't really taking when I wanted to give it to you, but that night... all I could think was that... you... y-you take. And, that night... I wanted to take something. You were there, and you kept... you just kept pushing. And, you were there, and I wanted to take something from you... I wanted to use you."

Again, silence weighed over the pair. "But, we stopped," I said at last.

There it was... another flash. Him leaning over me, both of us breathing heavily, flushed with the release of the orgasms brought on by the acts that constituted how far we had gone. And, a look. There was a look in his eyes as Booth looked at me, and I looked at him, and we had to chose whether to proceed or not. There was a look, and suddenly, he turned and I turned... and we went no further.

"Yeah, we stopped," Booth conceded. "I don't know why you did-"

"I couldn't," I said. "I was torn... conflicted. I couldn't go through with it... doing that to you. I... just wanted it to be over. I... what we had done already... I... even after everything that had happened, I realized I had started to respond to you. And, not just in a physical sense. And... I started to realize that even though I'd just spent the past four months trying to cut you out of my life, sever all my emotional ties to you... some remnant of the connection was still there. And, I was so scared, and frustrated, and panicked. And, then, I just I wanted to let you go and realized that no matter how hard I had tried, I still hadn't."

"I-" Booth said. "I... when you stopped... it was almost at the same time I did... I... couldn't use you like that. I... it was you, and I couldn't go any further."

"Further?" I was getting frustrated. He knew something. He knew more than I did, or at least he thought he did. Booth knew something more than what he was telling me because he still didn't think I had remembered as much as I actually had. Would he really keep that from me? Would he? I had to know.

"Further than what?" I asked.

"You don't remember?" he asked.

I closed my eyes for a moment, and then began to speak. "There's something there... there's flashes. I know I was on top of you... your belt buckle... and the boxers... and then, I remember rolling away from you. I was sweaty... and my heart... God, it was pounding so hard."

"Look," Booth said. "The next morning, I woke up sitting down in the lobby. I… I know we didn't have sexual intercourse… but… there are these flashes… images… like I said… we came close."

"How close?"

"Close," he said softly.

"Booth!"

At this, his head shot up. "What do you want me to say, Bones? You need a play-by-play description?"

I looked away, and swallowed once. "Tell me."

Booth sighed. He ran his hand through his hair again. "You were angry. I was angry. We were both drunk. The next morning… some of the buttons on my shirt were missing."

He stopped, and my head shot up. Buttons. I knew it... buttons, and the belt buckle, and his boxers... and... hands... both of us touching... and jeans. Oh, God... my jeans... and release. Fast... frenzied... angry... release.

A cry... I remembered that... a cry. But, as it his or mine. Or, both?

"Booth?"

He looked away again. I sighed, and then said, "Look, I know this is embarrassing for you-"

"I'm not embarrassed about what happened," Booth said honestly. "Just... how and why... but not what or whom."

"Okay," Brennan said. "But, even still... I need to know... I've got these... images. You have to tell me what I'm seeing... There was... skin, and hands, and a cry, Booth. It wasn't a cry of pain, it was a cry of release. What am I remembering? Was it you... or me?"

After a minute, he said, "Both."

I swallowed once. Of course. In the dream... no, not dreams. In the memories I had... of course, it had been both of us. Still, I needed to hear him say it.

"And?"

"I know this is a fairly stupid question for me to ask, but you don't know what third base means, do you?" he asked quietly.

Now, I was getting pissed. Not so much at him… but at myself. How… how could I have done this? And, then on top of everything, not fucking remembered? How?

"Digital or oral?" I asked bluntly. The truth, I needed the truth, and I needed him to tell me the truth, and I was in no mood for anything else.

"The first… for you… for me… the second… I think," he said. "Like I said… there are some rather large gaps…."

At this, I started to feel tears prick my eyes. I was not drunk enough for this. I really, really wasn't. I reached for the vodka bottle again and took another drink.

Booth watched me in silence. I was shaking my head when his question came.

"What?"

"I am just so over this," I said. A lump had formed in my throat. "I am so over… all of this," I nodded firmly. My brain... even my own brain had finally betrayed me. *How* could I have not remembered?

"Bones—"

"No," I cut him off. Somewhat surprising myself, I reached out and grabbed his hand. Holding it to my chest, just above my heart, I nodded, "Do you feel that?"

"Yes," he admitted quietly.

I nodded. "Do you remember that night I told you there was nothing left? Well, it's true. My heart… you feel it beating? It's doing so merely out of habit. There's nothing left. If I can't even trust my own goddamn brain to tell me the truth, then I have nothing left. And, I am so fucking over it."

"I feel it beating, Bones," Booth said. "And, I think you're wrong. Because, what I feel here? It's still beating… steady, strong, warm, and *alive*."

I shook my head, tightening my clasp over the hand that was pressed to my chest. "You're wrong. And… I am so tired of all of this. I mean, what type of person am I? To let something like that happen?"

"Well, then what type of person does that make me? I was right there with you," Booth said.

"But, you pulled away," I pointed out.

"So did you," he countered.

"I was just so angry," I said at last. "I was so sick of having all this pent up indignant rage at you. I wanted to make you feel as badly as you had made me feel."

"And, I... I wanted to get back at you. I wanted to... I mean, you were there. You were finally there. Before, it was like one day, everything was fine between us and then you showed up that afternoon, and just... you made me do that. And, I didn't want to... it wasn't fair, what you made me do. Out of the blue, no chance to explain... six years, Bones. Six years, and you just acted so unilaterally. I couldn't even say one word in explanation let alone mount a defense. You acted as judge, jury, and executioner," Booth said.

I swallowed. "I did it... because you made me," I told him. "I didn't know what else to do. You had told her... and didn't even give me any warning. How could you do that?"

Looking up at her, he said softly, "It's a fair question, and I'll answer it, I promise. But, first, I need you to answer a question."

"What?"

"When you were with Wendall, did you ever tell him anything about me... about us, things that had happened between us?"

I flushed at that, this time embarrassed myself. I was quiet for a moment, and then said, "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because," I said. "I was with him, not with you. I owed him my first allegiance."

Booth nodded. "So, you understand then?"

I swallowed the knot that had formed in my throat again, and then nodded. "I... I can see why you would say that. But, there's just one big difference between what I told Wendall and what you told Hannah, Booth."

He was quiet, didn't say anything, but waited for me to continue.

"I... when I told him, you weren't in my life. You... I had made my choice. Okay, maybe that's not completely fair. You compelled me to make a choice, but when I was with him, I wasn't trying to have the best of both worlds. I was with him, and I was with him completely. And, that's not something you did. When you were with Hannah, you... you never chose, Booth."

"I loved her," Booth said. "I loved her. I had a right to love her. She made me happy. And, I did nothing wrong in that."

"No," I conceded. "But, you did do something wrong in not letting me go... not completely. And, that's why it was wrong when you told Hannah what you did. You told her because you felt guilty... and scared, I think."

"Scared?" he said. "Of what?"

"Of me," I said. "I think... I don't know... I just... you shouldn't have done that."

"It hurt you," Booth said.

I nodded. "Yes. Badly."

"I-I... never wanted to hurt you," Booth said. "I'm sorry... for that. God, Bones, the last thing I wanted to do was ever hurt you."

"I know," I admitted. "*Now.* I know that now... that's the reason why you stopped that night, wasn't it?"

"Yes," he said. "I... I was so pissed at myself. After everything that had happened, after everything you'd done to me... and there I was... you were looking up at me with that look... you have a look, by the way, just after... and your eyes were so dark, so blue, and I remembered feeling... sick. I... I saw you looking at me, and it was a look I'd wanted you to look at me with forever... but, when you finally did. It wasn't right. It wasn't how it was supposed to be, and I got sick... and I knew then. I still cared about you, like I had said earlier. I still loved you then... otherwise... *otherwise* I wouldn't have felt so guilty, I think, about how things were happening."

At this, I sighed. So fucked up, things were so, so fucked up.

He looked at me for a moment, and then said, "Bones, I... want to make this better... will you let me?"

I shrugged. "You're still here, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Booth acknowledged. "And, I'm still a bit confused by that. I thought you'd be more... angry about this."

"I can't do that anymore," I said immediately. "I just... I don't have any more fight in me. I told you that. I can't fight both you and Wendall at the same time. I made that choice a long time ago. I can either fight one of you, but not both, not at the same time. And, I guess, in a way... you won that one because you're here right now, and he's not."

"What can I do?" Booth asked.

I shook my head. "I don't know. I... I don't know. I know you want to make things better, I know I want to make this better, too," I said. "But, with everything today... I just don't know if I have it in me to do what I would need to do to make it better with you. What can we do? I just... I don't know. I don't know if I ever will. All I do know is that I want-"

Booth stopped for a moment and said, "What do you want?"

"I want…"

"What?"

"I told you what I want. I want to stop feeling sad… so fucking sad. There's so much anger and pain and regret and sorrow… I'm sick of all of it. It's all I've felt for so long I don't think there's anything else left for me to feel. So, you know what, Booth? That's what I want. I want to feel something other than all those horrible, negative things that keep knocking me down every time I set myself up right. I... I've felt a lot of negative stuff recently... and this... it's just too much. It's not fair, and I... it's got to balance out. I need the negativity to balance out with everything else. That's what I want... but, I don't know how to make that happen even if I'm strong enough to actually go through with it," I finished.

Booth was quiet for a moment before he grabbed my hand and pulled me to him. God, he was warm. So warm... and the warmth, it wasn't negative, right? It was warm, and he was warm, and I suddenly felt a type of lightheaded giddiness fall over me. Warm... I wanted to be warm. I was so tired of the cold.

"You are so warm," I murmured as he held me, my cheek pressed against the crook of his shoulder. "It's so cold, and you're so warm."

"You're warm too," he said quietly. "And, much, much stronger than you give yourself credit for..."

"I don't feel strong," I said. "I feel cold and weak and exhausted. No, not exhausted. Fatigued. I feel so worn out over... everything." I stopped and then pressed my cheek against him again as I said, "But, you're here... and you feel warm... and strong. So warm."

I couldn't help myself as I nuzzled his neck. I didn't want to say no. It was illogical, over-emotional, and, as I said, probably not the best of ideas at the time given what had happened to me, to him, to us... *between* us. But, I was selfish, and the numbness had started to cloud my brain again in euphoric liberation. or maybe he was just so warm... and the warmth felt so good. I nuzzled his neck again, and felt his muscle tense a bit as he remained perfectly still.

"Warm," I murmured again. "So warm."

Despite my claims about the state of his current body temperature, I felt him shiver as I continued pressing my cheek to his neck. And, then suddenly he moved just a little bit - and I moved at almost the exact same time, and slightly, just ever so slightly, suddenly to was no longer my cheek that was nuzzling his neck, but my lips.

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><p>-TBC-<p> 


	15. Ch 14: Twelve Months After, Part 3

He Shouldn't Have Done That

By: Lesera128

Rated: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Brennan ends her partnership with Booth after she considers his confession to Hannah about her the ultimate betrayal. AU.

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><p>Chapter 14 – Twelve Months After, Part III<p>

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><p>I didn't mean for it to happen. It was an accident, really. We were sitting on the couch, and Booth had pulled me toward him in a tight embrace. I had leaned into him, and my face had come to rest against his shoulder, my cheek pressed against the warmth of his throat. It was so warm, he was so warm. And, I couldn't help myself as I had buried my face deeper into the crook of his neck, nuzzling it softly. Booth sat perfectly still, but, at some point I felt him shiver. Several more moments passed, and then Booth shifted slightly, probably for comfort, but he moved at exactly the same time I did. And, in that one second, my face moved when his chest did, and suddenly my lips were on his throat. It was a chaste, accidental movement. It was really nothing more than my lips grazing his throat by accident. But, when it happened, I realized that he was even warmer against my lips than he had been when it had just been my cheek. And, I couldn't pull away. It was as if I was held in some trance. My lips lay just pressing against the warmth of his throat... and then I stilled myself enough to realize that I could feel his pulse. It was beating. Fast. So fast. I could feel it through the delicate skin of my lips. And, it was so fast, and he was so warm. And, at some point, I felt him shift his head, and suddenly his lips were on my neck.<p>

It was a small movement, quickly made, but hesitant, tentative. And, for a moment, I just felt Booth with his lips lightly resting against my throat. But, then he opened his mouth to take a breath, and when I felt his lips against my neck again, it wasn't a simple touch, a simple caress. Booth was kissing me, softly, at first. Small kisses, tracing down the column of my neck from ear in the direction of my shoulder blade before he encountered the cashmere of my sweater. The kisses were soft, but firm, and I felt my own heart rate increase in response to the motion. I think he was waiting for something, some indication that he should stop and that I would pull away. But, as I said, I was in a trance, mesmerized by his actions. Soft, so soft... and warm, so warm. When I didn't pull away, didn't tell him to stop, Booth seemed to take the lack of those actions as a sign that his advances weren't unwelcome.

Pulling me toward him again, I fell sideways into his lap. Booth's hands started to roam as he continued kissing me. Light touches, gentle caresses over my clothing. I was nervous as he continued, but I pushed the anxiety away. He was so gentle, and so warm... and there. And, he was touching me. And, it... it felt. I felt in that moment. And, at that split second, I knew. I knew what I wanted... what I still wanted. What I had wanted from the very beginning even... I wanted *more*.

My hands came up to his head, and I scrapped my nails across his scalp, feeling my fingers run through Booth's hair. His hands tightened around me, and I pulled him closer. But, it wasn't enough. I needed more. Moving my head away from his just slightly, when Booth looked up at me with a small look of alarm and confusion present on his face, I quickly silenced any fears by moving my lips to his cheek. I began to press small kisses down it, across his jaw line, and closer to his mouth. And, on the final kiss when I came as close to his mouth as I dared, I felt him turn and his lips were suddenly on mine.

God, his lips were soft. So soft, so warm, and so... wonderful. Booth kissed me gently at first, but it wasn't long before the kisses deepened. Our already fast heart rates increased even more as we broke a part every so often for air, only to throw our mouths at each other once more as soon as only the barest minimum amount of oxygen had been consumed.

The kisses deepened, and I only protested with a small whimper when I felt him pull a part long enough to shove his hands under my cashmere sweater and yank it up over my head. Booth threw it somewhere behind us so that it landed on the floor behind the couch. It was November in DC, and while not quite winter, it had been an unusually cold fall. I had worn the light lilac sweater over a black knit dress. The dress, sleeveless and with a modest v-neck, gave Booth more access to my skin. As soon as the sweater was gone, I felt goosebumps arise as the cold air hit my warm skin. I didn't have so much as time to shiver as Booth's head came to my chest. He had begun to half-kiss, half-lick his way down my neck towards the valley between my breasts. Cupping them with his hands over the fabric of my dress, I started to feel a buzz ripple through my body. At some point, his hands worked their way into the bodice of my dress, and I started to twist a bit as he tried to get access to more skin, but was hindered by both the dress and my bra.

"Off," I murmured.

It was the first words either of us had spoken since the entire thing had begun. At first, again, Booth pulled back in confusion. It then dawned on me that he thought I meant him when I had spoken.

Smiling, I shook my head and clarified, "Not you. The dress."

Relief washed over his face, as Booth nodded. His hands grabbed the hem of the dress, and I lifted myself up in his lap as he raised it over my head. The dress soon joined the cashmere sweater, and, less restricted than before, my freedom of movement increased by the removal of the dress, I straddled his lap, with a knee on either side of his hips. I was still wearing far too much clothing... bra, slip, and the leggings I had worn for warmth under the dress. But, I was wearing less than I had been, and Booth seemed grateful for that as he pulled me toward him, pressing my body against his chest. His hands began to skim the skin of my back in languid strokes, edging a little further up, and going a little further down, each time. At some point, Booth's hands ran underneath the straps of my bra, and I felt stars start to prick the edge of my vision. He was so warm, so gentle, but I still needed more.

"More," I breathed. "Please, more."

My soft plea seemed to encourage him as I hoped it would. He moved to unclasp the bra, but I stopped him, suddenly realizing that for the amount of clothing I was wearing, he was sinfully overdressed. Booth must have caught a look in my eye as he grinned and said, "Don't worry. No buttons this time."

I smiled at that, and pulled at the fabric of his t-shirt. However, Booth was faster than I was, and he deftly removed the offending garment in one swift movement. Then, he was bare chested, and I was pressing myself into him, and he was so, so warm. And, he felt so, so good.

Looking into my eyes, he inclined his head. I nodded, knowing what he was asking. "Yes, now."

Booth's hands came up my back, skimming it in another movement that continued to fan the growing flames of my desire. One more click flick of his wrists, and then the bra feel forward. I shrugged out of it quickly, this time being the one to toss it behind me. Booth took a moment to stare at me then, just looking. A small part of my mind wondered what he could find so mesmerizing about a single pair of mammary glands, when, obviously, mine were not the first, nor second, nor even third pair he had to have seen and been able to be in such close proximity to before this night. Booth forced himself to blink, his hand at last coming up to caress the bottom of each breast in turn. I shivered at the touch, not from temperature, but from contact. My nipples had already peaked into tiny firm buds that made me want to cry out just from the pressure of his stare at them. Whetting his lips, he pulled me closer to him with the breath of a single word escaping his lips.

"Perfect."

I barely had time to register the words before Booth's lips were on me, and it was no longer with an effort or intent that I could quite call gentle. But, he was still warm, so warm, and what he was doing felt good, so very good. The infrequent words that either one of us had muttered were soon replaced by soft moans, pleading groans, and short, sharp gasps of air. At some point, I lost the slip and leggings I had been wearing while Booth's jeans disappeared. Eventually, I found myself on the couch laying down on my back with Booth leaning over me. His eyes were heavy-lidded and dark with desire. I think that was the first time then, at some point through all of it - the alcohol, the haze of my arousal, I saw something for the first time I had been looking to see in Booth's eyes at the same time I had gone looking for it - want. Desire. Want. Pure want shone in his eyes... pure want of me. Another wave of emotion coursed through my body when every single nerve ending already felt as if it was close to overloading. I smiled a half-smile, half-lazy grin at him. I wanted to pull him down to me, and for just a moment, he let me. Feeling his weight on top of me, it felt wonderful. I could also feel the very prominent evidence of his desire for me manifested physically as it pressed the soft flesh of my thigh. God, Booth wanted *me*, and I wanted *him*... and was this happening?

As he continued to kiss me, touch me, taste me, I thought... '_yes, yes, it is happening... and I really don't have a problem with that right now.'_

Almost as if he had heard my words, Booth surprised me a bit when he pulled away from me. He looked reluctant as he stopped, and I grew concerned.

"What?" I whispered.

"I, ah-" Booth began.

"What?" I pleaded again.

"I just..."

"Booth?" I asked, confusion and uncertainty coming into my eyes.

Why was he stopping? Was I wrong? Had I done something wrong? Did he not want me anymore?

Booth stared at me, and I stared at him as a hand came up in that minute towards my face. I was surprised when he used the back of his hand to caress my cheek. "How drunk are you?"

"Somewhat," I admitted. "I... ah, I have sobered up a significant amount since where I was earlier in the evening, but... my inhibitions are definitely reduced."

"Is that all?"

I nodded. "I'm not... I'm not… I'm not going to black out… I know what I'm doing, what this is, who I'm with… I won't forget."

Booth removed his hand, and sighed.

I looked up at him and said in a very small voice, "You?"

"The last shot rejuvenated the buzz, but I'd be lying if I said it's anything more than a moderate one," he stopped and then looked up at me. "I would say it's just enough that I'm feeling very inclined to… resume what we were doing."

"But?" I asked. There was, after all, always a 'but'.

Booth smiled at me, and he said. "No, 'buts'. I just... wanted... to make sure."

I felt a breath of relief escape me at that point. His smile widened at that, and Booth grinned at me as I flushed slightly in embarrassment that he now knew I had been worried that we were going to stop.

Another thought then occurred to me, and before we proceeded, I needed to ask him the question. "It's selfish, isn't it?" I suddenly asked.

Considering the question for a moment, Booth nodded. "Yes. For both of us. Very."

"It's just taking again," I added.

Booth thought on this moment and then said, "Yes… but it balances out, you know… the taking. It's okay to take... as long as you balance it with giving."

I reached out, and took one of his hands. I pried his fingers loose so I could intertwine mine with his. Booth looked down at the hand as I grasped it firmly. It was warm and pulsing with life… and I could *feel* it.

"Are we doing this?" he asked at last.

Giving his hand another squeeze, I shrugged my shoulders as I said, "I don't know… are we?"

"We can," Booth replied quickly. "If… you..."

"I do."

"Then, if we want to, yes."

And, those seemed to be the magical words. Want to... yes. He leaned back down over me, covering my body with his. Lifting my arms and hips to meet him, the sensations started to overwhelm me as I felt warmth and wanted and... and, then stopped thinking, stopped analyzing as I enjoyed the moment for what it was. Yes, I now knew what it meant to just be in the moment. To just…feel. And, it felt... wonderful.

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><p>It was a lot more slow this time, when Brennan moved, and Booth responded. Unlike the first night that had been driven in a haze of anger and rage and lust… this was an exploration driven by want and curiosity and warmth and… the desire just to *feel*.<p>

And, feel they did. They remained on the couch…panting, pawing, groping – skin on skin… tongues fighting, fingers touching, mouths tasting, hands pulling, and each movement was made deliberately… with a single goal in mind. And, this time, when each of them fell a part… this time… this time neither pulled away in anger, but had fallen away in replete satiation. Separate, still keeping a large part of themselves separate and guarded from the other… but, this time… there was still enough contact that the promise of hope could be said to truly and actually finally exist between the pair.

* * *

><p>I pulled away first. And, this time, again, he followed. Booth pulled me to him. I tried to squirm away, but his grip tightened.<p>

"Don't," he half-whispered, half-pleaded.

"I—"

"Don't," Booth repeated. "You said you wanted to feel, right? Something real? Something warm? Something that's not negative? Fine. It's here. I'm here. We're here. So... just….feel," he breathed again. "Just… FEEL."

In that moment, I didn't know what to do. My brain was fighting to regain some semblance of control. My heart was tensing with fear of the burden this act might indicate it would have to face ramifications and consequences for in the very near future. Next to me, I imagined I could hear the same struggle for Booth… only the wording changed slightly. What did it mean? How does this change things? What happens next?

And, I didn't have any answers for any of those questions. Neither did Booth, I knew that much. What I did know is that I no longer felt sad, I no longer only negative emotions. Now? Now, there wasn't really a negative or positive value judgement that I could add to these things. All there was... was the emotion. The experience. There was me, there was him... and this is where we had ended up.

So, for now, I merely… felt. And, for now, that was enough.

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><p>-TBC-<p> 


	16. Epilogue: The Hope in the Future Telling

He Shouldn't Have Done That

By: Lesera128

Rated: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Brennan ends her partnership with Booth after she considers his confession to Hannah about her the ultimate betrayal. AU.

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><p>Epilogue – The Hope in the Future Telling<p>

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><p>My Christmas this year was very similar in some ways to last year. In some ways, it was very different. This year, this year, Angela and Hodgins were there. But, so was Michael. This year, we weren't at Jack and Ange's, but at my place. This year, my apartment didn't look like it did on any other day. True, it didn't look as festive as it had two years before, but I did have a tree and my Christmas ornaments didn't sit in boxes, purposely forgotten and unwanted. Instead, they hung on the tree branches, shining prettily next to colorful blinking lights, shiny gold garland, and reflective silver tinsel. This year, I wasn't drinking red wine to put myself into a drunken stupor, although I did have a glass or two throughout the course of the evening to partake in the ritual of social drinking and being festive. This year, when Angela and Jack decided it was time to leave, I didn't cry myself to sleep with hopes of wanting nothing more to fall asleep so that I could dream of Booth. This year, all I had to do was sit on my couch… and wait.<p>

At about quarter after 1am, a knock came softly on my door. Expecting it, I went to the door and barely took time to glance through the peephole to confirm my suspicions before I pulled it firmly open. Booth stood there, in his suit and long black overcoat. Snowflakes still sprinkled his hair and coat. He was brushing as many of them as he could off when I opened the door. Booth smiled in greeting when he saw me, and I returned it.

Coming forward, he nodded, "It's cold."

"Come inside," I said as I inclined my head in the direction of the Christmas tree. "It's warmer here."

He nodded. When I had shut the door and locked it behind us, I noticed he was already shrugging out of the coat. I then glanced at the bottle of wine he had set on the table. Smiling again at me, he said, "Here. I thought… maybe a glass to toast the holiday?"

I looked down at the label. It was an expensive vintage… and red wine. I chuckled at this and said, "Let me get a couple of glasses."

Going into the kitchen, when I returned, he was already sitting on the couch in front of the tree. I was caught for a moment, seeing Booth like that… seeing him as I had in my dreams ago… almost. That night on last Christmas Eve, he hadn't been wearing a suit, but the image was extremely reminiscent nonetheless. Setting his glass on the table, I reached for the corkscrew and the bottle of wine.

"Was attending midnight mass an enjoyable experience?" I asked, as I opened the bottle of wine, and handed him a glass after I had poured a respectable amount into the goblet.

Booth nodded. "It was… I've always liked going to midnight mass on Christmas… it's the single most peaceful time I think I ever feel during the course of a year. I can't really explain it, but I do. I feel very content. Peaceful… and hopeful, no matter what's happened or not happened in my life. For one night during the year, the past, the future doesn't matter. It's almost like the pause-button on living has been hit for twenty-four hours. Good stuff, bad stuff... it's all there when you wake up on December 26th. But, for now, there's just peace and hope and contentment."

I considered his words for a moment and then said, "And, good will towards men, isn't it, how the saying goes?"

"Yeah, something like that," Booth said.

"Well, peace and hope and goodwill are positive things, Booth, no matter who you are or what you've done or where you are. They're things the world is woefully short on, and could always use more of, at least, I think so. Peace and hope and good will... they're things I think are always things we could always use a little more of…."

Booth looked at me for a moment as he took the glass, and said, "Yes, they are."

Suddenly feeling a weight shift between us, and hearing Booth's stomach growl, I changed the subject immediately. "Are you hungry?" I said. "I saved you some food from earlier. And, if you want something sweet, Angela and Hodgins brought these really amazing cookies."

At that word, Booth's eyes brightened and his ears perked up. "Cookies?"

"Yes," I nodded. "And they're dipped in milk chocolate."

"Completely?"

"Yes," I replied, still smiling. "Does that sound appealing to you?"

Booth gave me a deadpan look as I saw him almost begin to salivate in front of me. Chuckling, I went back into the kitchen and brought the tin back with me. Setting it in front of him, I then sat down and began to sip my own wine. Booth grinned gleefully and began to munch on the cookies. We sat in silence for a moment, enjoying the atmosphere of the lights and tree and the soft hum of the Christmas music that was still playing on the radio. At some point, Booth shrugged out of his suit jacket and kicked off his loafers, and I slipped out of my heels. I curled up on the couch, and he sat next to me, a few inches away. We each had a blanket draped on us. We weren't touching, not really. However, after a time, and I'm not sure how long, at some point, a single hand reached out from Booth's blanket and one escaped from under mine at almost the same time to join it. It wasn't the clasp of lovers, or even the closest of friends. It was a touch of reassurance. Booth was there. I was there. We were alive. And, we were doing our best to try to live.

We were quiet for a long time. The lights had a mesmerizing effect on me. Booth, too, I think. I started to doze off at some point, but was pulled back into the land of consciousness as, at last, Booth turned to me and said, "Merry Christmas, Bones."

I nodded at him with a smile. "Merry Christmas, Booth."

At that, Booth's hand clasped mine a little tighter in a reassuring gesture of support. I smiled down at it as I said, "I'm glad you're here. I'm glad you came."

He considered the words for a moment, and then Booth nodded. "So am I, Bones. I glad I came… that we could come to be here tonight, too."

We both wanted to say more, but now was not the time, nor the place, and neither of us was ready. I'm sure this is the point where some people would love for me to confess that Booth yanked me into his arms, we made passionate love until dawn, and exchanged meaningful Christmas gifts before we lived happily ever after. However, that's not what happened. Much as I had in my dream, eventually we simply fell asleep on the couch in front of the tree, watching the lights.

Why did he come that night? Why did I let him? Why did either one of us want to, especially given what had happened over the past year? Those are difficult, difficult questions to answer, and even if I could answer them, I'm not sure anyone would understand anyway. Was it a coincidence that Christmas Eve was a Thursday evening that year? Did it matter that we had spent each of the past Thursday evenings, no longer going to the pub, but coming to my apartment each night just to spend hours talking? Is that why he came, and I wanted him to come? I don't know the answer to any of those. I do know that when we had seen each other the prior week, I had asked if he was coming without remembering what day it was at first. Booth, who never forgets such things, reminded me... and asked me if I still wanted him to come. It didn't take me any time at all to respond. Yes, I wanted him to come... if he wanted to be there. And, so, after a slight detour at midnight mass, Booth came, and I let him in.

And, perhaps... that was my... no, *our* happy ending for the year... because sometimes... sometimes the happy ending is knowing that no matter what life has thrown at you, you know you're still standing at the end of it. It may be a shaky stance, and you could be at risk to topple over at any moment. But, the actual happy ending is when you keep pulling yourself back up and wait for the next thing to happen.

After Jack and Angela left, but before Booth got there, I had a fair amount of time to think about the past year. I've been doing that a lot - thinking. I'm getting better at not being as emotionally bi-polar as the past year would seem to indicate I actually am... but, I still have a lot of work to do to find permanent balance. In that search for balance, navigating my way between positive and negative, I've had to reflect a lot on what's happened this past year... the past year I've spent... well, I spent it in a free fall of emotion. I realized it began the night of the Lauren Eames' case and never really stopped until the night last month when what happened between Booth and I happened.

Do I regret what's occurred over the past year with Booth and Wendall and all of it? I know that I regret the amount of pain I suffered, and in certain ways, there are some choices that embarrass me in hindsight more than others. But, this is the path I traveled, and I know that's happened for some reason that I don't know yet. Ironic statement, and more than a bit contradictory, coming from someone who still can't concede things like a divine plan or fate, right? But, I'm not a Buddhist or a stoic. Suffering does happen for a reason. I am supposed to gain some piece of knowledge from all of it, that I know. So, no I can't regret what's happened to me. I have good days, I have bad days, but there it is.

And, so, on that one night where Booth aptly described life as having hit the pause-button, we simply sat watching the tree, saying nothing before it was time for such words to be spoken. Neither one of us was quite sure what was happening, how, why, and in what way. That was the one thing both of us knew the morning I woke up on top of him a month ago, and he had wrapped me tight in his arms. We couldn't explain why it had happened... completely. And, we didn't know what it meant, but we did know what it didn't mean. When I woke up, and he woke up, and both of us looked at one another, neither one of us ran in shame or embarrassment or regret. Neither did we make grand claims of love and endless devotion. We didn't discuss it's significance from an interpersonal relationship point of view. Both of us needed time and space to deal with what had happened and what was changing and why. We weren't in a relationship. We weren't dating. We had barely begun to reestablish our friendship. But, we were getting to know each other again, and the door stood open. Even if it was just opened a crack, the metaphorical door between us was finally open. As Booth said, there was hope. Who knew what would become of it? I didn't see myself being ready for a relationship at any point in the near future, even if I thought I would be eventually capable of it. Booth felt much the same. But, the door was open... for a time when we might be able to be together. We might be able to be together when I wasn't so angry and emotionally unsettled... and when Booth wasn't as confused by both of our reactions to one another over the events that had transpired between us over the past year.

But, as I said, there was hope, there was a chance. One day at a time, we took one day at a time, just sitting, just talking… just passing the time... and continuing to *live*... to proceed forward, one step... one day at a time.

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><p>~The End~<p>

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><p><span>AN: For those who are unfamiliar with my normal style of ending a story, this is the point where I take the opportunity to share any thoughts/acknowledgements, etc. I'll try to be brief.

First, this story was *incredibly* difficult to write as, for the most part, it was an extremely dark fic. It was never, ever going to be hearts and fluff and warm fuzzies. If you want that, there are many, many other stories where you can find it (including several of my own - even a happy Christmas scene as I mentioned in slight mocking with B&B ending up pretty much as I described, tee hee. Inside author's joke. Sorry. I digress.). By their very nature, these stories are hard to create, let alone finish. But, if you've read my work before, you know that *telling* the story is what I'm always about... some people are annoyed by that, but oh, well. Then... this story also decided to be extra difficult when it was already difficult by it's very nature. This story bounced me around a lot as an author as it refused to confine itself to the outline I made, and at some point, Wendall kind of jumped in when I was so totally *not* expecting him to do so. One of the reviews commented that it seemed as if B&W were Booth and Hannah in reverse, and yes, there was a certain intention there on my part. When I started writing this story, I knew I needed to have some male counterpoint to Booth for Brennan, and I didn't particularly care for any of the usual suspects (Sully, Jared, Hacker, etc.), and I normally don't like to use OCs for secondary romantic complications since I don't think I ever have enough time or space to properly develop them into the complex type of characters they need to be to be even semi-worthy of Brennan or Booth. So, that left.. Wendall. Like I said, he kinda just jumped in there of his own volition. I also really, really didn't want to do Wendall in, but it was necessary, and he did, sadly, have to take one for the team. But, in the end, I do think it worked for the purpose it served.

Anyone who writes knows that you have to listen to what the characters tell you so that you're true to them while not letting them run away with the plot. I tried, but it was a real, real difficult thing to achieve. It was told from Brennan's point of view, purposely left Booth out of things for at least half the story, and extremely emotional. This stopping point for the story (note: I don't say resolution, because there really isn't one) took a bit of doing, and I have purposely left some threads of this story unattended (Booth's father and family issues, Brennan's miscarriage and potential alcoholism, ramifications of their act in the final chapter, and several others not named) on purpose. I believe there is definitely enough material there to work with in the creation of a sequel at some point if I wanted... maybe. And, if there's reader interest. Stats and review numbers of this story have skyrocketed higher than any of my others so I know - love it, hate it, indifferent - lots of people *have* been responding to it with some type of reaction. That has been highly gratifying to me for an author, but didn't make the story an easier to write. I will only say for now, writing a story that is as angsty as this one was is a real drain... probably because you know when you've written a decent angsty scene if, when you reread it, you've made yourself tear up. That's the nature of the beast, I suppose. However, again, this is not a happy story. The characters as I've established them are probably the most flawed versions of B&B that I've ever written. They are consistent in their flaws, but that's about it. I am particularly amused when I get comments that always say 'such and such are OOC' because it just goes to show that A.) people are ignoring that AU tag for what it *really* means and B.) they really aren't looking at how characterization shifts over time.

Last, I would also like to thank all of those who responded with comments, reviews, critiques, PMs, etc. Sometimes we agreed, sometimes we didn't, but I always read and consider ALL the comments I get... even the ones that took the time to let me know they would no longer be reading the story or that they didn't agree with a plot twist because they merely didn't like it. Huh. Yeah, still not sure about the significance or purpose of those, as I wasn't going to change something because of that, but I did read them and there you are. Also, to she who shall remain unnamed (she knows who she is in her wonderful awesomeness), many thanks to someone who let me bounce some drafts of the last few chapters off of her. The last four or five chapters were particularly hard to bring to a stopping point of some kind, but there they are... I'm not sure how it turned out, but there it is. I really wanted to put this story to bed at last which is why everyone's getting the last two chapters and epilogue in one foul swoop. So, now, if anyone is still here, as I know people have come and gone with this story for various reasons, thanks for sticking it out, particularly to read this final part of the note. Take care!~


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